Last Chance
by Laume
Summary: AU. In 1938, Albus Dumbledore heads to a London orphanage to deliver a letter to a muggleborn student, and decides to be reasonable when encountering Tommy Riddle.
1. Chapter 1

The summer of 1938 was one of anxiety and fear for the Muggles

**A/N This story is based on the premise that a) Tom Riddle suffers from a severe attachment disorder and b) Albus Dumbledore is a sane human being who actually learned from working with children for decades. While I firmly believe in point a), of course point b) makes the story completely AU.**

The summer of 1938 was one of anxiety and fear for the Muggles. No less so for the Wizarding World. The rise of Grindelwald coinciding with the success of the German dictator Adolf Hitler kept both worlds preoccupied. War, it was hoped generally, could perhaps still be avoided. Only a few men, Muggle and Wizards alike, knew that it was too late, decades too late for that.

Albus Dumbledore was one of these men. He had his own issues with Grindelwald and kept up with events in the Muggle world. However, first of all, he was an educator. Children kept coming to Hogwarts, the school where he held the Transfiguration position, and in the eyes of the very young he saw hope for the future, and possibilities to prevent wars yet to come. Potential – yes, much of that. One of his most talented protégés was about to finish her second year with yet another perfect O in his subject. She combined hard work with a good dose of natural ability. Young Minerva would undoubtedly go far. In five years, he would actually fear for his own position if she kept up her current pace.

Today he was on his way to a future student of Hogwarts. Apparently Muggleborn, this boy had grown up in a Muggle orphanage – not a good place to be in these troubled times. The Wizarding world, thanks to the economic expertise of the goblins, escaped most of the depression that had hit almost ten years ago, but he visited the Muggle world often enough to see the poverty and misery many poor souls were reduced to. Orphanages, was Albus Dumbledore's experience, depending much on charity, were hit the hardest. Especially those in the big cities, such as London.

It wasn't as bad as he had feared when Headmaster Dippet asked him to go visit this child. The orphanage was at the very least, clean. Granted, there was nothing there that would generate any joy, and undoubtedly the matron – a Mrs Cole – had great trouble making ends meet.

He was after knocking, duly escorted to her by a girl barely older than his own pupils.

"Do you enjoy work here, my dear? The children not too much trouble?" he enquired on their way up.

"'Tis pleasant enough, sir," she replied, "better than many another position. A bit of a struggle with so many chicken pox patients at the moment."

"And the children?"

The girl lowered her eyes briefly. "Good enough children, but running wild too often for want of staff. There is not enough food to go around many a night. Children died as well as staff. I started work here not seven months ago – the girl before me was let go after four months, the girl before her worked her a year. That's a record. Mrs Cole is the only constant, but she does not have the daily care of them, though she has an amazing memory and can tell you about any child in an instant."

"Martha?" Mrs Cole appeared in the door opening.

"Yes, Mrs Cole. A Mr Dumbledore is here to see you."

"Show him in, please."

Mrs Cole clearly also suffered from the lack of provisions that plagues so many these days. She was thin, skinny even, and she had a constant air of worry about her. Her face was sharp, but Dumbledore did not suspect that she was ill-natured as much as she was tired of the struggle to keep the orphanage running.

"Mr Dumbledore. How may I help you?"

An expert Legilimens, he could practically hear the silent plea that this rich looking gentlemen before her was a donator instead of yet another person trying to foist off an unwanted child or even worse, demand payment for some sort of mischief the children had gotten up to.

"Mrs Cole. I am here to inquire about one of your charges, a Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Oh dear," the woman flustered, "what has he done now?"

"Nothing, I assure you," Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "Young Tom is the recipient of a trust that will pay for his education at a boarding school in Scotland come this September. I am here to speak to the lad and provide information. Seek it, as well, since we know little about the boy but his name."

"Oh. Oh dear. I'm afraid I am not much help there. His mother arrived here eleven years ago, on the verge of giving birth. She was weakened, and did not last long – merely long enough to name the child. Marvolo…such an odd name, don't you think? But she insisted. She passed away shortly after that, and we had to raise Tom by hand. He was a strange baby – very quiet and rarely cried. It unnerved many of the girls who took care of the infants, though he was not difficult, not then."

"And later on?" Dumbledore prodded.

"As he grew up, strange things happened around him. Other children would get hurt. Animals that lurk around the orphanage – we keep cats to control the rat and mice population, and we were very kindly given a goat by one of our patrons for milk – sometimes end up singed, or with broken bones."

"You ascribe these events to Tom?"

"The ones that get hurt are always those who got into fights with Tom," Mrs Cole sighed, "we know nothing for certain…and in many cases I don't see how it is possible for a child to cause…well."

She paused suddenly, aware that she was not painting Tom in a very favourable light and this gentleman was the one interested in taking the boy off her hands. Not that she was eager to throw out her charges, but every child was an extra mouth to feed.

"How is your orphanage getting by in these difficult times?" Dumbledore asked.

"We are not, really," the harassed-looking Matron admitted, "we cannot feed the children as adequately as we would like, not to mention provide them with new clothes and blankets. Some children have a few possessions from their former homes – toys mostly. I know it is a practice in many other places to take those items to pawn, but I couldn't bring myself…"

"Of course not," Dumbledore nodded. He fished through his pocket and took out a hundred pound note – he always carried Muggle money when venturing into that world. One could never know.

"Please accept this donation on behalf of your other charges. I will, if Tom agrees to come to our institute, take care of all his monetary affairs."

The woman gasped – a hundred pounds would go a long way in providing her charges with the necessities. It was a staggering amount of money for a single donation.

"If I could see Tom now..?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Yes, yes of course. I will take you to him – he is likely in his room."

The small room – from what Mrs Cole told him, 'problem' children were given their own rooms while the other children slept in dormitories for boys and girls, was furnished with a simple bed, a wardrobe and a hard wooden chair. This too, was impeccably clean and the children he had seen on his way over looked reasonably well-cared for. They were a little more thin than one would like, but not terribly so. Their clothes, while threadbare, were clean and repaired with a skilled hand. Mrs Cole clearly was a good woman who did her best to fulfil her duty towards the children as well as she could.

A handsome boy of eleven looked up as they entered.

"You have a visitor, Tommy," Mrs Cole said, her eyes glittering, "do come in, Mr Dumbledore."

"A visitor?" the boy said, "no one visits me." He did not sound whiny or complaining – merely stating a fact.

"I am visiting you," Dumbledore pointed out, "may I sit?"

The boy swung his legs down to sit on the side of his bed and nodded.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Mrs Cole closed the door.

"Let me introduce myself. I am Albus Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore began.

Decades of teaching children had taught him a thing or two, and Mrs Cole was correct – something WAS wrong with this boy. Very wrong indeed. His behaviour was cold and disinterested, but a strange light showed in his eyes at the mention of Hogwarts. Not surprise as he often saw in Muggleborns, or disbelief.

"It is magic then, what I can do?" the boy again merely stated a face.

"What CAN you do?" Dumbledore carefully inquired.

"I can make bad things happen to people who hurt me," Tom said matter-of-factly, and without any sort of guilt, "I can talk to snakes. The others think I am crazy. I don't belong here. The other children are afraid of me," he added with something akin to satisfaction.

Dumbledore studied him carefully, considering his options. It was not the first time he had encountered a child like this. Indeed, he thought ruefully, he had BEEN a child like this.

Overpowering the boy by a display of magic would yield no results whatsoever. It would only serve to frighten Tom, and frightening the boy would give him a reason to search more power – more than he apparently already had. To control accidental magic at this age was astounding. There had been other children, over the years, from orphanages, broken homes, impoverished families. Some of them adapted well to life at Hogwarts, others remained distant, or volatile. Punishments, powerstruggles and the like never worked with these children. It might subdue them for a while, but in the end they would find more creative ways to gain the upper hand.

There was one thing they had in common. These children had stopped trusting adults at a very young age – indeed, had likely never trusted an adult at all. Children like Tom, who had had different caretakers almost weekly from the time he was a newborn.

"And you steal, too," Dumbledore nodded towards the wardrobe. Tom flushed.

"They stole from me first," he defended.

Ah. So there was something of a conscience left in the child.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "I understand. Survival of the fittest, hm?"

The boy seemed to dig through his memory. "Darwin," he finally pronounced.

"Clever boy. Now let me tell you why I am here." Dumbledore pulled a parchment from his robes and handed it over.

Tom read it intently. "I get to go to this school?"

"Indeed. And once you are trained up, you will be a fine wizard," Dumbledore assured him.

"I can't pay. Mrs Cole sure can't pay," Tom folded the parchment and handed it back.

"That has all been arranged," Dumbledore said, "If you wish to come, I will take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy school supplies."

"There's no need. Mrs Cole doesn't mind us going out on our own. Just give me directions and I'll do it myself," Tom said.

Dumbledore frowned. "Even if I agreed with an eleven year old – however capable," he raised his hand to ward off the inevitable protest, "roaming London on his own, I would object to the idea of sending a Muggleborn like yourself, who does not know what to expect from the Wizarding World, into Diagon Alley without escort. I will pick you up at ten tomorrow morning."

Tom looked rebellious for a moment, about to protest. When he caught the Professor's stern look, however, he knew there was nothing to be done about it and nodded obediently.

"I will be ready, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N 100 pounds Sterling in 1938 would be about 5000 pounds today

**A/N 100 pounds Sterling in 1938 would be about 5000 pounds today.**

The next morning Dumbledore returned to the orphanage only to discover that Tom was not ready at all.

"Did you not believe I would come?" he asked.

The boy flushed. "People are always saying things," he shrugged, plucking at the pyjamas he was still wearing.

"Yes, well – when I say things I mean them. Get dressed. We will get your school things, some new clothes and I will explain a few things about the Wizarding World over lunch."

The boy's eyes widened. "Lunch?"

Dumbledore eyed him kindly. "The Wizarding world is less impoverished than you are, my boy. The fare at the Leaky Cauldron is not overly exquisite but quite satisfactory."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Tom's head shot up and his face showed just a hint of fear, "oh…"

Dumbledore frowned. "Did you already find it?"

Tom nodded, a bit hesitant.

"That is good. It is quite a walk, however. I have a faster way of taking us there, but not until you are out of those pyjamas and into some clothes."

Five minutes later, Tommy emerged from his room, impeccably dressed.

"Now come along," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, "and take hold of my arm. Now, what I am going to do now is called Apparition, and when you are a bit older you will learn it, too."

Tom was reluctant to take his arm but obeyed out of sheer curiosity. He almost yelped as he was squeezed tightly and everything went black. Then they stood in another part of London, at the door to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Wicked," he let out before he carefully brought back the blank mask on his face.

Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed it is."

As they entered the Leaky Cauldron, Tommy tried uncharacteristically to hide behind Dumbledore's robes.

"Ah, hello Bert," Dumbledore greeted the bartender, "how are you?"

"Fine, fine," Bert nodded, "wife's doing better."

"Ah, yes. How is your boy? It IS a boy, your youngest offspring, isn't it?"

"Aye, sir. Third son. Tom, we've named him. Good solid name."

Tommy looked around Dumbledore's legs and immediately regretted it.

"Well I'll be. It's our little thief," Bert laughed.

"Pardon?" the Professor asked.

"This little one has a tendency to relieve me of some food once in a while," Bert explained, "I gathered he'd be in here sometime with one of you to go to Hogwarts, or he'd not have been able to see the place at all."

Suddenly Tom's reluctance to go to the Leaky Cauldron in his company made sense.

"What does the little rascal owe you, Bert?" Dumbledore asked, keeping a hand on Tom's shoulder.

"Ah, nothing much. Sickle and a half total maybe. Tis hard times, Professor, I don't blame the young upstarts for trying to get by however they can. Though if you'd asked, young sir, I would have given you what you needed," he cast a semi-stern look at the boy.

Dumbledore fished two Sickles from his pocket and handed them to Bert.

"There you go. We will be back later for lunch, Bert."

"Sure thing. Enjoy the Alley, lad."

As they entered the garden and were alone, Tom seemed to stiffen even more and moved away from Dumbledore a little.

"Tom," the older wizard squatted down so he was eye to eye with the youngster, "I do not condone stealing. It is unacceptable at Hogwarts, but I already told you that I do understand why you felt the need. The matter is settled and you are not going to come to harm over any of it. From now on, write to me if you need anything and I will have it taken care of. No more stealing."

He got little reaction, but deep inside that young mind was surprise and disbelief, mostly. The boy had some natural shields – he would be a superb Occlumens in a few years with some training – but not quite enough yet for Dumbledore to be unable to get some idea on how he was feeling.

"Gringotts, Madam Malkins, Flourish and Blotts," Dumbledore ticked off on his list, "we have a busy morning ahead, Mr Riddle."

"What is Gringotts, Sir?" Tom asked as he jogged to keep up with the wizard.

Dumbledore noticed his pace was a little fast for a small boy to keep up and slowed. "It is the Wizard bank, Tom. Run by Goblins. Very intelligent and excellent bankers, but they are easily offended. Be polite and you will do just fine. Ah, we wizards do not give them nearly enough credit, Tom," Dumbledore sighed wistfully, "they saved us from the poverty that struck the Muggle world, and receive no gratitude."

"Why is that, Sir?"

Dumbledore stopped and turned to the child to give him his full attention. "Many witches and wizards believe that everyone not human, and everyone not magical is inferior, and therefore not entitled to any consideration."

"Oh." Tom contemplated this for a moment. "But…people without magic…they aren't the same as us, are they?"

"Of course they are not the _same_. That does not, however, make them _inferior_. Your Mrs Cole, for example."

"Sir?" Tom asked, wondering if his Matron would turn out to be a witch.

"She is a Muggle, of course, who over the course of many years has worked hard and diligently to provide the best care possible to you and your fellows. To keep you and the other children this healthy in times like these is nothing short of amazing. Is that inferior? Would it be right to dismiss her as unimportant, just because she has no magic?"

Tom bit his lip. "I…I guess not. She does try her best, although…"

"I am not saying she is perfect, lad. I am saying that the world would be better off with a few more Mrs Coles in charge of orphanages."

Finally a very slight smile trespassed on the stoic face. "Definitely, Sir. I've spoken to boys on the street, from other places which are far worse. Mrs Cole does not steal donations for herself, nor does she beat us just for fun like some of the staff did before she dismissed them."

"Exactly. Well, here we are, my boy – Gringotts."

Tom stared in amazement at the creatures behind the counters. He remembered the Professor's advice – be polite – and that seemed to work. The Goblins were mostly indifferent, it seemed, though they were slightly politer to the Professor. Perhaps because the older man did not treat them with the same contempt Tom heard from many other clients.

The ride to the vault was fun, but he could not enter. He had to remain in the cart with the Goblin until Dumbledore emerged, but he entertained himself by asking the Goblin all about Gringotts. The Goblin was quite knowledgeable and shared some interesting tidbits of information.

"Thank you, Sir," Tom made sure to mind his manners as they returned to the surface, "I apologise for bothering you unduly with questions."

"Asking questions is the only way to learn," the Goblin said shortly, "I wager that after your first day in this world you now know more about Gringotts than many a wizard born into it."

Dumbledore smiled at the boy as they exited. "Well done, Tom. Well done indeed. You have made a very good impression on the Goblins."

So the boy did know how to behave pleasant and civil. That was good. Tom was not unteachable, then. And if he was not mistaken, the praise still meant something to the boy, if the faint hint of colour on his cheeks was any indication.

Their next stop was Madam Malkins, where Dumbledore got Tom three Hogwarts uniforms. They also got a trunk, and Dumbledore put in two of the uniforms and the other supplies they had bought.

"You will need one uniform to change into on the train," he explained, "but the rest of your new things are better left somewhere safe, where your fellows cannot get their hands on them."

Tom looked disappointed. "I wanted to read the books before I start," he said.

"You can," Dumbledore promised. The main reason he wanted to keep the trunk away from Tom was that he did not trust the boy on his own in the orphanage, unsupervised, with a wand. The school books would be fine.

"Do I have to return to the orphanage, Sir?" Tom asked, pretending to be interested in the display of a curio shop nearby, "if I could stay here at the Leaky Cauldron Mrs Cole would have one less mouth to feed."

Dumbledore frowned. As much as he did not want to leave the boy at the orphanage, letting him run unsupervised around Diagon Alley, and worse, Knockturn Alley was even less of an option. On the other hand, the boy did have a point. He did not fit in well at the orphanage and he would undoubtedly find a way to return to the Alleys either way.

"I will see if I can arrange something for you, but I make no promises," he finally said, "and even then I will need to lay down some rules that you must give me your word to follow."

The boy nodded eagerly, not pleased by the prospect of rules but his desire to stay in this world where he finally felt somewhat at home was greater than any misgivings about rules.

They stopped at Ollivander next and after a long time, Tom held a Phoenix feather wand.

"Excellent," Dumbledore smiled, "you know, the Phoenix that provided the feather for this wand is my own companion, Fawkes."

As Tom admired his new wand, Dumbledore spoke with Ollivander and paid for the device. Then they were off to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. Tom dug into his mashed potatoes and chicken eagerly.

"I have spoken to Mr Ollivander and Bert," Dumbledore began, "and we have agreed that you can stay at the Leaky Cauldron. You will work for Ollivander while you are here – he can teach you quite a bit about Wizard history. That will pay for your food and lodgings."

Tom's face brightened considerably. "Thank you, Sir."

"There are a few rules. You will obey Bert and Mr Ollivander. You will get a small amount of spending money besides food and board. I suggest you save some of it for when you are at Hogwarts. You will keep to Diagon Alley. If I hear you have been in Knockturn Alley or out in Muggle London on your own, I will retrieve you and bring you back to the orphanage myself."

Tom was willing to agree to anything by now, the prospect of not having to return to the orphanage and staying in this wonderful new place, learn from a skilled wizard and earn a little money doing it too much of a temptation.

"I will visit you several times and escort you to Kings Cross station come September first," Dumbledore continued, "if you have need of anything, ask Bert or Mr Ollivander to contact me. Oh – and you will need some regular day-to-day robes besides your Hogwarts uniform if you are to stay here."

He wrote a quick note, folded it into a tiny airplane and sent it off towards Madam Malkins' store.

"A simple piece of magic," he explained, seeing Tom's awed face, "I suspect Mr Ollivander may even teach it to you soon so you can send them to his contacts yourself."

He could easily have paid for the boy to stay at the pub, and frankly he did – what Tom would earn with Ollivander would mostly be given to the boy as spending money, but it would be better for his pride if he thought he was truly earning his keep. He would work on teaching the boy that he could and should rely on adults at his age once they were at Hogwarts. Rome was not built in a single day either, after all. Bert and Ollivander had promised they would look after the boy. Knowing Bert's wife, she would attempt to coddle the boy if she learned he was an orphan – she really was a kind woman. Some affection would do the boy good and Ollivander certainly would not work the boy too hard. The old man was a good teacher when he wanted to be, and Tom would arrive at Hogwarts with at least a fairly good idea of how the Wizarding World worked. There was only one more stop to make.

"Magical Menagerie?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

Dumbledore took his hand and led him inside, to a cage with a litter of what to Tom, looked like cats.

"Since you missed so many birthday presents, I thought to give you one of these kittens," he said, "pick one."

"Sir, with all due respect, are you insane for giving me a cat? Hasn't Mrs Cole warned you about me?" a slightly bitter tone to the young voice.

Dumbledore picked a small white kitten with one black ear from the litter and handed it to Tom, who automatically cradled it.

"This one is yours, Tom. She depends on you to look after her. She is not a cat, either, but a Kneazle. They are highly intelligent creatures. I daresay she already likes you," he pointed as the kitten licked Tom's chin.

"Once a kneazle picks the person they want to be with, they love their owners unconditionally," he said, "and this one apparently wants to be with you."

He pushed a basket and a bag of food into Tom's hands. "She is my gift to you and Bert enjoys having kneazles around the place. Ollivander won't mind you bringing her, either."

Yes, he would drop in to check on the boy often. Though there was something dark and worrying about the boy, he was young yet and had also shown him in the course of the afternoon that there was plenty of ground to be hopeful.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N In March 1938, about the time Dumbledore visits Tom Riddle in the orphanage, Germany annexes Austria

**A/N In March 1938, about the time Dumbledore visits Tom Riddle in the orphanage, Germany annexes Austria. **

**September 1939, the start of Tom's second year, Hitler invades Poland and Britain declares war on Germany – though not yet very actively pursuing combat.**

**The London Blitz, Hitler bombing London, started September 7****th****, 1940. During the previous months, Luftwaffe planes had already been bombing RAF airfields and radar stations. This took place the summer before Tom Riddle's third year. In canon, despite the clearly dangerous situation and London children being evacuated to the countryside, Headmaster Dippet sends Tom back to London.**

Albus Dumbledore considered Armando Dippet a very intellectual man. Unfortunately, his pureblood upbringing made Dippet remarkably unaware of events in the Muggle world. He was also less than pleased with Dumbledore's efforts on behalf of a Muggleborn, though he would never come out and state it like that.

"I do not see why you went to all this trouble for one boy," Dippet's quill scratched the parchment he was working on, "the boy was fine in the orphanage."

"Headmaster…" Dumbledore sighed, "Do you have any idea, ANY idea, on what the Muggle world is facing these days? Granted, the Matron of Tom's orphanage does her very best but when there IS no money and no food, she cannot just conjure them out of thin air like we do!"

Dippet sighed. "Do what you think you must, Albus, you will anyway."

"The boy bears watching," Albus said shortly, "he is strong, he has power. He is also angry, bitter and has been unable so far to feel affection or trust for anyone. You know the Dark Arts are particularly inviting for such characters. He reminds me of…" he halted abruptly.

"Of yourself?" Dippet asked in a flash of insight, "of Gellert Grindelwald, perhaps?"

The amount of power that swirled through the office was frightening, and Dippet resolved never to speak that name in Dumbledore's presence again.

"He does remind me of myself," Albus hissed through clenched teeth, "though he has not had anyone to love. Nor, indeed, anyone to love him. Such children are dangerous, both to themselves and others. I do not care what you or anyone else thinks is proper – I intend to do right by the boy."

Dippet eyed him. "I could forbid you," he said.

"You could," Dumbledore raised his head stubbornly, "and I would not heed you."

Dippet considered this. Dumbledore was far too valuable a staff member to dismiss, certainly far too valuable to dismiss over his – however misguided – interest in the wellbeing of one insignificant soon-to-be first year. So he did the only thing he could under the circumstances, and made himself believe that he had approved.

"Very well, I grant you permission," he stated, "as long you will remain professional to the boy in class."

"Of course, Headmaster," Dumbledore just barely restrained himself from a mocking bow and strode out of the office.

sssssssss

"Hello, Tom," Dumbledore smiled at the boy behind the counter.

"Professor Dumbledore," the child nodded politely, and then, a little more animated, "Mr Ollivander is letting me mind the shop for a bit while he is out."

"And an excellent job you are doing, I am sure," Dumbledore stroked the head of the small kitten that had climbed up his robes.

"She does that to me all the time," Tom said, "I tell her not to, that she will destroy my new clothes," his hands rubbed his robes unconsciously; it was such a strange thing for him still, to own new things, "but she won't."

From Bert Dumbledore had heard that the boy did indeed take good care of the kitten's needs, though he did not seem very affectionate to her. The kitten, however, had no trouble with that and was constantly near the boy, often perched on his shoulder. She slept at his feet, and Tom allowed it. Allowing affection to be shown to him, even by a mere kitten, was already much more than Dumbledore thought Tom capable of.

"She's a smart one," he rubbed underneath the chin and the kitten purred in contentment, "what did you name her?"

"Merope," Tom said, "Mrs Cole told me it was my mother's name. Maybe at Hogwarts I can find out who she was – it's not a common name…a common Muggle name."

"Certainly not," Dumbledore agreed, "If you like, I will help you with that. I have access to records in the Ministry that you might have trouble getting into."

"Thank you, sir," Tom said, not indicating if he meant it as a refusal or acceptance, "did you come in here for a wand, sir?"

"I came to see you," Dumbledore said, "and to take you to lunch at Hogsmeade – you can see the castle from there. I thought it would be nice for you to have seen a bit of it already. If Mr Ollivander can spare you, of course."

Tom's face showed surprise and, to Dumbledore's delight, some childish pleasure before it was tooled back into the indifferent mask.

"That is very kind of you, sir."

"Alright, then, as soon as Mr Ollivander returns I shall ask him to loan his employee," Dumbledore smiled kindly, "while we wait, I would like to purchase a wand."

"Again, Albus?" came a voice from the door.

"Yes, again," Dumbledore sighed, "a slight mishap."

"You really should avoid these tantrums of yours, at least while you are holding your wand," Ollivander chastised. "Tommy, do you know the reason Mr Dumbledore here has demolished his FIFTH wand?"

Tom shook his head. "Did you break it, Sir?"

Dumbledore handed him the completely whole wand.

"No…but something is off," Tom studied the wand more closely, "it feels…lighter."

"It is," Ollivander gave the boy an approving glance, "you are correct. The wand core is burned to a crisp. All that wand is now is a worthless piece of wood. Perfectly good work gone to waste."

This was accompanied by another glare at the Professor.

"How did that happen?" Tom asked in amazement.

"Wands channel a wizard's power," Ollivander explained, "normally, the core is capable of handling quite a bit of power. Unfortunately powerful wizards like Professor Dumbledore, who are also prone to throwing tantrums like an ickle child, sometimes channel too much power for the wand to handle. In that case, the core burns and the wand is useless."

"How much power a wand can channel depends on many things – the quality of the core, first, but also the quality of the wood, and most certainly the skill of the craftsman…" Ollivander took out a box.

"Here. Try this one."

Dumbledore gave it a wave and sparks shot out. "No, not right," he handed it back.

"It shot sparks, though!" Tom protested.

"Professor Dumbledore is a fully trained wizard," Ollivander remarked, "he has enough control over his power, most of the time anyway, to make any wand work for him. That does not necessarily mean it is a good match. In a few years, some of the wands you tried that did not work for you now, might do the same. They would never be a proper match for you, but you would be able to cast with them. Hand me those boxes down the counter, there's a good boy."

Half a dozen tries later, Dumbledore was fitted with a new wand.

"Since he has been in here before, I have some idea of what wand might work for him," Ollivander explained to Tom, "I know which ones to discard instantly."

"Well, it feels good to have a proper wand again, I've been making do with one of the castle's spare ones," Dumbledore beamed, "and now, if you do not mind, I would like to borrow Tom here for lunch at the Three Broomsticks."

"Certainly. I shall not need him this afternoon," the man gave the boy another approving nod, "he has worked so hard that I am running out of chores. An afternoon off will do him good."

"Run to the Leaky and change into clean clothes. Wash your face," Dumbledore instructed the boy, "I will wait for you here. Don't forget to tell Bert where you are going!"

Tom ran off, his robes billowing behind him as he raced down the street.

"You were right," Ollivander said, mysticism all gone, "something is wrong with him. He is like that wand of yours," he pointed at the destroyed item, "it looks perfectly alright at first glance, but when you pick it up, you realize something has happened to it – that the inside has been…"

"Forcibly removed," Dumbledore muttered.

"Yes. It is not hopeless. Close, but not hopeless yet. We might still be able to do something for the child, you most of all. He is welcome to return to me next year."

Ollivander was silent for a moment. "I am relocating to Hogsmeade soon. Germany annexed Austria – did you hear? War is imminent, though the optimists believe otherwise. When war is declared, and it will be," the man laid his hands flat on the surface of the counter, "how long will London be safe even for our kind? Certainly not for an untrained wizard boy. Do your best by the child, Albus. Support him, even learn to love him. It may be the only way to save him."

ssssssssssssss

Dumbledore Apparated with Tom to the village. He had landed them at a hill just outside, actually. He turned Tom around.

"There, Tommy. That is Hogwarts."

He felt the shoulders under his hands relax as the boy took in the grand sight of the castle, the well-kept grounds and inviting flags on the towers.

"It's very beautiful," the boy whispered.

"Wait until you see it when you arrive in September. Nothing like it," Dumbledore promised.

"Really? Why?" Tom looked up at him.

"That is a surprise, my boy," Dumbledore laughed, "I would not want to spoil the experience by telling you what it is beforehand."

They walked down to the village. "A candy store?" Tom asked, his eyes widening.

"Ah yes. Honeydukes. Masters of their art. They make the very best chocolate." Dumbledore watched with satisfaction how the mention of chocolate for a very brief moment turned Tom into a perfectly normal child begging for a treat. The large eyes immediately closed again, but the plea had been there.

"After we eat, we will visit it. You cannot possibly come to Hogsmeade and leave without at least a bar of Honeydukes' finest," for a brief moment, he put an arm around the boys shoulders. Holding just a second, enough to let Tom know he was being given a sort-of hug, and brief enough not to completely enrage the boy, he steered them to the Three Broomsticks.

It was a subtle game he had to play, he knew. Such brief rewards of affection were necessary to encourage the normal, childlike behaviour he wanted to see in Tom. At the same time, the boy should not get the impression that affection was conditional. Saving Tommy was going to be one of the most difficult things he would ever undertake.

He would save Tommy – or die trying.

**A/N Dumbledore and temper tantrums may seem illogical, but I think in the younger Dumbledore it would not be so uncommon. Only the later, canon version developed that strange calm.**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N In the night of 9 to 10 November 1938, two months after Tom Riddle starts Hogwarts, the Kristallnacht takes place in Germany

**A/N In the night of 9 to 10 November 1938, two months after Tom Riddle starts Hogwarts, the Kristallnacht takes place in Germany. 267 synagogues were set on fire, 7500 shops and businesses destroyed, homes, cemetaries, schools and hospitals covered in graffiti, and 91 Jews were murdered. It was instigated (according to Muggle sources) by Goebbels and the SA. The Jews were forced to pay a billion Mark in damages and it started the deportation of the Jews to concentration camps.**

Early in the morning on September first Dumbledore once again returned to the Alley.

"Well Tommy – do you have everything? Is there anything you need?" he asked the boy.

"No, Sir," Tom replied, "I got some books I wanted."

Dumbledore actually knew that much. Ollivander had Owled him that he had made Tom return one of the books to the shop, telling him he felt the boy was too young to read it yet. It dealt with magic that could sway the still impressionable mind to the Dark. Dumbledore had agreed, and made a mental note to make sure Tom would not persuade any teachers for passes to the restricted section of the Hogwarts library.

Ollivander also reported that he and Bert did not scold or punish the boy for wanting the book, merely told him he could read it when he was older, and then directed his attention to other, safer books. Duelling fascinated the young wizard, and Ollivander had chipped in to buy him a book on the subject that was a little above his budget.

"That is nice," the Transfiguration Professor smiled at the child, "Do you have a basket for Merope? And a supply of food? Of course, the Care of Magical Creatures Professor and the Groundskeeper also run a thriving business in pet food, so if you need more, go to them."

Tom nodded.

"I also found out something," Dumbledore continued, "I did some digging in the Ministry archives. Your mother was indeed a witch, by the name of Merope Gaunt. She is reported missing, though of course, with her having died in the Muggle World, the Ministry was unaware of her passing."

"Thank you, Sir. So I am not entirely Muggleborn after all," the boy said, "have you found out anything about my father, Sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Regrettably, not yet, my boy, but I will keep looking. You are, assuming your father is a Muggle, which he probably is since your mother ended up in the Muggle world, a half blood. However, you really should try not to put much weight on these labels. There is no such thing as 'diluted' blood and oftentimes half bloods and Muggleborns have proven to be extremely capable wizards."

"I was never certain if Riddle is my fathers last name or a name they gave me when they found me," Tom said, "It seemed such an odd name."

"I have found no Wizard or Wizarding family with that name," Dumbledore said, "Your father might be a Muggle, a Wizard who used a false name, or the orphanage gave that name to you, like you said. I fear it will take me a bit longer to find out anything about your father, dear boy."

Tom inclined his head. "Mr Ollivander invited me to stay with him again next summer to work for him, though he hinted he might not be at Diagon Alley then."

"No. With the threat of war, he is thinking of relocating temporarily to Hogsmeade."

Tom frowned. "Does this conflict affect the Wizarding World?"

"Undoubtedly. While the Wizarding World has separated itself from the Muggle world, trade has a way of overcoming many boundaries. Wizards trade with Muggles, who sometimes are aware, and sometimes are not. The Statute of Secrecy does not cut down all contact, you know, only prevents knowledge of our society from leaking to the Muggle public in general. The economic disaster of the past decade would have cut off many of our trades and income if it had not been for the financial genius of the Goblins. Wards on our buildings may prevent some damage, but an all-out bombing? And besides…"

Dumbledore halted abruptly.

"What, Sir?" Tom asked.

"Nothing, my boy. Like trade, wars have also often been a mixed affair of Muggles and Wizards. Come now, let's go."

"I can speak to snakes," Tom said suddenly, his voice a mix of anxiety and defiance.

Dumbledore regarded him calmly, wondering where that had come from. Then it hit him. He had called Tom 'my boy' and 'dear boy' several times now. The child felt uncertain. He was getting too close for comfort, and the boy was testing him. No doubt he had read somewhere that being a Parselmouth was considered 'evil'- yet another thing to label him, the Professor groaned inwardly. On the outside, he only nodded.

"Yes, I expect you would be. You come from a family of Parselmouths on your mothers side, child. You inherited her gift."

Tom was taken aback. His usual tactics to keep people away did not work on this man. He felt drawn to him and at the same time he hated him. He felt guilty for hating him when the Professor had done so much for him. It was different with Ollivander – Tom worked for him. Their relationship was amiable but the old man got something out of their deal.

"That makes me evil, does it not? I read it. Only evil wizards can talk to snakes," he snarled.

"That is not true," Dumbledore countered, "it is simply a gift. You had no control over whether or not you would receive it – you were born with it. It is not our abilities that show who we truly are, Tommy, but our choices. Being a Parselmouth has nothing to do with good or with evil – it means nothing other than that you can talk to snakes. No more, no less."

"I am evil," Tom openly attacked now, "Mrs Cole said so. Everyone said so. I hurt people, I stole, I used my magic to do that. I can talk to snakes."

"No one is born evil, Tom," Dumbledore said, inwardly sweating and hoping he found the right words, "and even if people do turn evil, it is never too late to repent and turn back. I do not believe you are evil. I believe that you have the strength of mind and character to choose the right path, the one that does not hurt others for entertainment. And that will show who you really are, Tom Riddle – not some ability that was given to you beyond your control. Not a few mistakes of your childhood. But the choices you make from now on. Others have turned from sins much, much greater than yours."

Dumbledore went down to one knee so he was eye to eye with the boy. "I have made worse mistakes than you, Tom. I have done some very evil things when I was young. The consequences I will bear for the rest of my life, but they do not mean that I am doomed to follow that misguided, evil path for the rest of my days. You made mistakes, like all children do. You did things you should not have done. That does not mean you are forever set in that way. You always have a choice, and those choices will show what you are."

He got up again, a bit ashamed by his passionate plea. He brushed off his robes. "At any rate, you will not be alone in it. I will always be near to help you."

"Even at Hogwarts?" Tom sounded sceptical, but no longer angry. That was an improvement, surely?

"Even at Hogwarts," Dumbledore confirmed, "my office is always open to you."

sssssssssssssss

Dumbledore's job this year was to await the First Years in the Entrance Hall where his friend Horace Slughorn, the Potions Master, was delivering them. Horace had grumbled about having to escort the kiddies across the water, but Albus knew it was just for show. Horace would not waste the opportunity to scan and select the ones with profitable connections even this early.

"The First Years, Professor Dumbledore," Horace winked at him, from his place at the head of the throng of frightened looking children. Tom was in the back, he saw, his face impassive as usual. Nothing to indicate that the child was impressed or pleased with his journey across the lake and the beautiful view of the castle it offered.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore beamed merrily, "My name is Professor Dumbledore, and under my guidance you will study the fascinating art of Transfiguration. In a moment, I will escort you to the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into one of four Houses – Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Each has its own grand history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your House will attempt to be a family of sorts – you will sleep in the dorms, do your homework or entertain yourself in your Common Rooms. We have a friendly competition going on each year – good behaviour and good school work will earn you House Points. Bad behaviour and slacking will lose you points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will win the House Cup, a great honour. The four hourglasses over there," he pointed, and the children turned to look, "indicate which House is in the lead."

Of course, this early in the year, the Hourglasses were still empty.

"Observe," he said, "Five points to Hufflepuff!"

A few gems fell into the Hufflepuff hourglass.

"Five points to Ravenclaw! Five points to Slytherin! Five points to Gryffindor!"

The other hourglasses received equal amounts of gems, and Dumbledore smiled. "Five points from Hufflepuff. Five points from Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor."

The gems trickled back up.

"In addition, we have a Quidditch Cup. First years are not allowed brooms and thus, are rarely allowed to play. The wizard-born among you will know it is a beautiful, but dangerous sport, hence our discouragement of the First Years playing." Groans were heard from the purebloods and a few half bloods. Dumbledore twinkled at them. "You will have flying lessons soon after the start of term," he promised.

"Now, they are awaiting us in the Hall. Remember, whichever House you are Sorted in will not prevent you making friends in the other Houses. Come along, children – form an orderly queue."

Dumbledore listened happily to the gasps of awe as they entered the Hall for the first time. The beautiful decorations and high ceiling, enchanted to look like the sky above, never failed to amaze.

Albus took his place next to the stool and Hat while Horace sat down in his customary seat at the Staff Table, the place to his left, Albus's own, still open.

"When I call your name, you sit on the stool and put on the Hat. Once you have been Sorted, sit at the appropriate table. Here goes."

He unrolled the scroll and called the first child, "Avery, Brandon!"

A serious-looking boy stepped forward, put on the hat and waited. After a long minute, the Hat called "Slytherin!"

As the Hall clapped and the Slytherin Table stood up as one, he made his way to the space that was reserved for the new first years.

Tom waited patiently, soon realizing the list was alphabetical and his name would be somewhere near the bottom. He took in the Hall and the people in it, especially the staff. When he heard 'Longbottom, Augusta' being Sorted into Gryffindor, he turned his attention back to Dumbledore.

The Transfiguration Professor gave him a slight smile when he called 'Riddle, Tom'. The boy walked up quietly, not making a fuss or drawing undue attention. It was hardly surprising to Albus that the Hat decided on 'Slytherin!'. The only thing that did surprise him was that it took the Hat almost a full five minutes to do so.

When the Sorting had ended, he took his place at the end of the table. Horace leaned over as soon as Dippet had made his announcements and had officially opened the feast.

"So, that's the boy you took an interest in. Armando has been in a snit for days about it," he eyed his friend with a mixture of mirth and curiosity.

Albus returned the gaze solemnly. "Armando does not approve," he said, "but promise me you will keep an eye on the boy, Horace. He is angry and bitter – something is wrong with the child. Ollivander agrees with me."

The long silence that fell between them was profound. They both knew Ollivander, and his penchant for accurately interpreting both people and events. That he agreed meant that Albus had not been wrong.

"We both believe the child is both a danger and IN danger," Albus continued softly, not wanting to be overheard, "he could easily go Dark. He is immensely powerful, Horace, we cannot allow that to happen. Ollivander and I both believe that with attention, dedication and affection he may be saved. You must help me. Whether Armando approves or no. I can not do this alone."

"No," Horace finally replied after digesting the information he had just gotten, and casting some curious glances at the handsome, darkhaired boy that was quietly eating his dinner and chatting with the Avery child.

"No, you cannot. Ollie is just as concerned as I am about the annexation of Austria, and we both know that when, not if, this leads to war, you will have to be involved. You will not be able to avoid him any longer, Albus, and it will take a lot out of you. Perhaps the care of the boy will be a welcome diversion, but you do need people to be there for him when you cannot."

Albus had paled at the reminder of his past. Of all present, Horace knew his old secrets. He was also the only one who could allure to them without getting hexed, or, as he had done when Dippet brought up Grindelwald, overload his wand in a tantrum.

"I worry about you," Horace said matter-of-factly, "You are one of the few who could best him – possibly the only one. We will need you. And yet I ask myself if you are ready, if we can ask this of you."

"When it comes to it, whether or not I am ready will not matter," Albus managed, "it would have to be done. The time has not come yet, may not come for a few years yet. Tom is here now, and in need of us."

Horace recognized Albus' desire to let the matter rest for now, and nodded. "Petition as his guardian, then, Albus. He is alone, an orphan. You qualify, and in that way Armando would not be able to object much to your involvement in his life."

"I will consider it," Dumbledore muttered, turning his attention back to the dinner that suddenly had lost all its former attraction.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N The Munich Agreement was signed on September 30th, 1938 and was described by Neville Chamberlain by the famous phrase "I believe it is peace for our time

**A/N The Munich Agreement was signed on September 30****th****, 1938 and was described by Neville Chamberlain by the famous phrase "I believe it is peace for our time." The treaty gave Sudetenland over to Germany in an attempt to pacify Hitler. Instead, in March 1939 Hitler broke that treatment, followed in September 1939 by the occupation of Poland.**

The next morning at breakfast, Dumbledore stopped Tom at the door. Merope clung to his robes, mewling pathetically for the older man to pet her, which he absentmindedly did.

"How are you, Tom? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Sir," Tom answered, "Professor Slughorn gave us directions last night and this morning, when he handed out our time tables."

"Ah, good," Albus smiled, "when will I see you in my class?"

"This afternoon, Sir, directly after lunch," Tom said, "We have Charms first and then Herbology."

The Transfigurations Professor nodded. "Very good. You will tell me if you need anything, anything at all, Tom." It was not phrased as a question, "I want you to come see me in my office Friday after class."

"Yes, Sir." The boy nodded and walked off to his first class, on his own. Dumbledore frowned. Hopefully Tom would find some friends soon. Perhaps he could ask the McGonagall girl to keep an eye out for him. It was obvious the boy would remain distant if given the chance, and certainly he would never hear if Tom was in need of anything.

ssssssssss

"You were right," Horace said to Albus on Thursday during dinner, "you and Ollivander. There is something wrong with the boy. Mind you, he is a clever one and had you not mentioned it to me, he would have escaped my notice…"

He shook his head. "Merlin, but what talent!"

Albus smiled. "Monday, during his first lesson, he managed to actually transfigure the match I gave them into a needle. A bone needle at first, but at the end of the class period he had turned the bone into silver."

"I know," Horace marvelled, "the boy not only has power, but the amount of control he has at his age – it would be such a waste, such a waste if he turned Dark."

"Do not, ever, let him into the Restricted Section, no matter how much he pleads," Dumbledore warned, "and do not allow any other teacher to give him a pass either. We must make sure his feet are firmly planted on the right course before we allow any such temptation near him."

Horace grimaced. "I see your point…but such talent must be nurtured…cherished…"

"He has a lifetime to learn," Albus said tensely, "and it is better that his education suffers a little, than that he is lured to the Dark Arts by exposing him to them too soon. He can make up for not having read one book or another later in life. The alternative…"

"I know, I know," Horace raised one hand to indicate he did, in fact, agree with his friend, "I will try to encourage him to pursue other interests. I can already see he will be bored with the standard curriculum in mere weeks – I have spoken to the others. He can take the Ancient Runes elective early, and perhaps another language – Gobbledegook maybe – if by Halloween we see signs that he is in need of a greater challenge. You told me he did quite well with the Goblins. Learning their language and customs will keep him busy and out of trouble. I don't think anyone ever managed to fully master that language."

Dumbledore gave him a sideway glance.

"Well, except you," Horace conceded, "perhaps you could teach him."

"No," Albus said pensively, "I think it would be best if Tom learned to respect different species and people early on. He has dreadfully little empathy and actual contact with different people will help. He would need a Goblin teacher."

Horace had reached out to take another roll from a basket but halted in mid-air. "Armando would never allow that."

"We shall see," was the only reply he got.

sssssssss

Tom walked into Professor Dumbledore's office that Friday, still a little muddy from his second herbology class.

"Ah, Tom," Dumbledore motioned him to a comfortable chair in front of the fire, "how was your first week? Did you have fun?"

"It was interesting, Sir," Tom said carefully.

Albus frowned slightly. "Tom, I did not call you here because you are in trouble. I am not speaking to you as your Professor right now. You may speak your mind."

Tom hesitated. "The…the classes are very interesting, as I said. The pace this week was a little…"

"Slow?" Dumbledore suggested.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sure it will pick up later on…"

"You are a bright lad, my boy," Dumbledore said, deliberately putting affection and approval in his voice, "It might well be you are going to be ahead of your peers. If you still think the pace is too slow in a few weeks, do mention it to me or your Head of House. We can find a solution."

He sat back and steepled his fingers.

"Tom – there is an issue I wanted to discuss with you."

The boy looked up. "Sir?"

Albus looked into the child's face and realized, perhaps for the first time, that despite the danger he posed, despite his problems, Tommy was only an eleven-year old child.

"You are alone in our world, Tom," he started gently, "and very much so in the Muggle world as well."

A blank look was all he got, and he pressed on carefully. "There are times, especially in school, when you need someone who can look after your interests. An adult," he clarified.

"There is a custom in the Wizarding World, and probably in the Muggle world as well, that someone can become your guardian," he continued.

Tom was extremely wary now. "And the function of such a person is…?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, the lack of rules and regulations in this regard leave it up to the person himself how much he or she is willing to do for his or her charge. Traditionally, however, a guardian looks after his charge's best interests – whether financially or in another fashion – and assumes responsibility for his or her well-being."

He turned to fully face the boy. "Tom, I am going to apply for guardianship over you with the Ministry. It would make sure you can not be sent back to the orphanage during holidays."

The child remained completely impassive, which concerned the Professor.

"Is there anything you wish to ask? Do you have questions or concerns?" he pressed.

"No, Sir," Tom said, not meeting his eyes, "may I be excused, Sir? I have homework to attend to."

"If you wish," Albus nodded. The boy stood.

"Tommy," the Professor called him as he moved to the door, "do remember you can always come to me if there's anything – anything at all."

Without comment or even acknowledging he had heard, Tom left the office.

ssssssssss

It took some time for the paperwork to be filled out, filed and be approved. For one, Mrs Cole had to be approached for her approval, since she had, for all intents and purposes, been Tom's guardian in the Muggle world. Fortunately, she made no objections whatsoever. She was glad one of her charges had found a home, especially since the person applying for guardianship was the gentleman who since he had come to pick Tom up, made a weekly donation to her orphanage.

Dumbledore visited the rooms of the Potions Master on the last day of September, only to find him reading at a table covered in Muggle newspapers.

"Horace?"

The man so named snorted. "Hmph. Peace for our time, indeed. The man is an incurable optimist, if you ask me."

Albus picked up one of the papers. "Sudetenland? What do they want with Sudetenland?"

"Lebensraum," Horace almost sneered, "officially because there is a large group of Germans living there. My unofficial sources, however, say differently."

Albus shrugged. "Not necessarily differently. The German Chancellor might have that idea in mind. I think…"

He sighed deeply. "I think Gellert is behind this."

"Why?" Horace asked, "what does he want?"

"What he always wanted," Albus gave a short, bitter laugh, "what I thought I wanted as well. How are your privacy wards?"

"Top notch," Horace checked, just to be sure, "nothing you say will leave this room."

"And it never must," Dumbledore sat down heavily, "what do you know of the Deathly Hallows, Horace?"

Horace looked up in surprise. "The Hallows? Grindelwald is chasing after a nursery tale?"

"They are no nursery tale," Albus briefly buried his face in his hands, "they exist. The Deathstick, the Cloak, the Resurrection Stone. They exist, they have just been...misplaced. Gellert wants them, above anything in the world."

A shrewd look crossed his friend's face. "And so do you."

Albus nodded. "I have wished for them. To bring back my parents and my sister. A senseless dream, perhaps, Horace. But Gellert would bring down the world for that dream, and he cannot be allowed."

"No," Horace agreed, "he cannot. However, that means you will have to fight him. To fight him, you will have to face him, Albus. Are you certain that he cannot corrupt you again? He will try to seduce you again and bring you back to his side. You know that I cannot allow that to happen, neither can your brother. If we are not certain you can withstand him, we will not allow you to face him."

Albus looked up incredulously. "You would let the world suffer instead?"

"There's no war yet, though it will come," Horace tapped the papers, "one Dark Wizard is bad enough to deal with. People will die, without doubt. However, if YOU turn as well, the world does not stand a chance at survival. Horrid as it sounds, it is the lesser of two evils, Albus. We will help you and support you, as you have asked, even if it means that we have to protect you from yourself."

sssssssssss

The next day, Germany moved in to occupy Sudetenland. That same day, Albus Dumbledore finally received the papers from the Ministry of Magic that granted him guardianship over one Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N December 13 1938 – Neuengamme concentration camp opens near Hamburg

**A/N December 13 1938 – Neuengamme concentration camp opens near Hamburg. Over the course of the war, 109,000 people will be imprisoned her. Over half of them will die.**

Just before Halloween, it became obvious that Tom was bored with the pace of his classes. He was a consistent O student and finished his homework long before his classmates did. That caused additional problems – he had time to cause trouble.

First, there was the donkey ear incident in Transfiguration. His fellow student did not mind too much, especially since Dumbledore reversed the spell within moments. Then there was the potion incident in the Hall, where half of the staff table ended up with polka dots. On their skin.

Fortunately, the nurse barely needed to look at them to reverse the effects. The students had a good laugh.

Finally, Dumbledore walked into his office one Friday morning to find it a complete and utter mess. Books had been charmed to fly around the room. Papers had been shuffled. A few knickknacks lay broken on the floor. Tom's magical signature was all over the room.

"This is not exactly what I had in mind when I told him my office was open to him at any time," Albus sighed to Horace.

"I think it is to be expected," Horace replied, "don't you see the pattern, Albus? He acted out in your class. You were the target of the polka dot prank, even though us innocent bystanders were also caught in the crossfire. And now your office. In a way, it is a good sign."

Albus picked up a broken figurine and raised his eyebrow. "You think so?"

"He is reacting to you. He does not react to me or to his other teachers. He is polite, impassive and completely unreachable. He only does this to you."

"That's a comfort," Albus replied sarcastically, "meanwhile, if he keeps this up, Armando will hear of it at some point."

"There's no need to tell him of this," Horace said reasonably, "or even deduct house points. This is a matter between you and your ward. Take him this weekend – talk to him."

"I have no idea what to do," Albus sighed.

"Well, my father would have bent me over his desk and whipped me with his belt until I could not sit for a week," Horace offered, "but I personally do not think _that_ would be a good idea."

"Merlin, no. I am at a loss here, but I do know that if I lay a hand on the child, I will have lost him," Albus nearly shuddered, "yet I would do him no favours by ignoring his behaviour, either."

"Certainly not," Horace agreed, "Problem children are not my area of expertise, Albus. Where I come from, if beating sense into them does not work, we lock them up. Rather narrow-minded actually. Common sense tells me that you should probably punish his behaviour in some way while still making it clear you care for him. That, and I am going to organize extra classes for him. Our dear colleague of Defense against the Dark Arts already offered to tutor him and move him into the second year class after Christmas. That will limit the amount of time he has available to misbehave."

"Well," his friend surveyed his demolished office, "he can set this to rights, to begin with."

sssssssssss

It did not really surprise Albus that the boy who slinked into his office on Friday night was a visible mixture of emotions. Anger, fear, guilt, confusion were are written on the child's face. It did surprise Albus that he was the only one to see it. Horace had confirmed that with anyone else, the boy was polite and, at first glance, the perfect student.

"Tommy," he greeted the boy who lingered by the door, "come here."

The child tensed, but slowly approached, trying not to glance at the remains of the office. Albus stood up, pulled the boy to him and hugged him a long moment, ignoring the squirming. Then he put his hands on the thin shoulders.

"It is pointless, Tommy," he said gently, "you can try whatever you like in your attempts to antagonize me, but I will not give up on you. Do you not understand that I care for you; that I _want_ to be your guardian, child?"

There was no response. The boy's face was carefully blank and his eyes fixed on a point beyond Dumbledore's right ear. Nevertheless he could feel the small shoulders shake just a little, and he knew at the very least, Tom had heard him. He could not expect to be believed at this point.

"There is, however, the matter of your demolishing my office," he continued, keeping his voice kind.

"Professor Slughorn agrees that you will be staying with me this weekend. Your behaviour and your punishment will not go on your school record; this is a matter between me and you, as guardian and ward."

He put an arm around the child and slowly guided him towards his rooms, beyond his office. He opened a door.

"This is your room, Tom. You may decorate it however you wish."

He sat the boy down on the bed. "Tomorrow morning, you will start cleaning up my office. I will wake you at six. When you are done with that, I will give you a few more chores. For now, you will go to bed, as you have a busy day ahead. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Tom replied – his first verbal reply of the evening. It concerned Dumbledore that he would react to punishment, but not to affection.

"Good. Change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth. I will return in ten minutes to tuck you in."

He wondered if he was pushing it, but decided that the best way to help Tommy was to give him the attention he should have received, that any child should receive, when he was only a small boy. Tom would protest, resist and probably lash out at him, but he needed that kind of care – the kind he never had.

So ten minutes later he pulled the blankets up to the chin of the glaring boy, smoothed his hair and said a gentle goodnight.

sssssssss

The next day, Tom, under heavy supervision, cleaned up the mess he had made in the office. Albus made sure he did pause to eat, which apparently surprised the boy, as if he did not think he would be allowed. The meagre fares at the orphanage had left the child smaller and thinner than Albus would have liked, however, so he was loathe to take away meals for punishment. By the end of the morning, the office was cleaned up. After lunch he assigned the boy the task of helping him sort out his library, dusting off tomes and organizing them alphabetically. He allowed Tom to take a History of Magic book to read that evening.

Sunday morning, Tom tumbled out of his bedroom at seven-thirty, obviously thinking he had overslept.

Dumbledore looked up at the hasty entrance and smiled. "Easy, my boy. No cleaning today. Come and have breakfast."

Tom warily approached, but soon was eating his eggs.

"We are going to visit Mr Ollivander today," Dumbledore announced, "He has decided to move his shop to Hogsmeade."

"Sir?" Tom asked.

"The threat of war," Dumbledore said softly, "he deemed it safer to leave London."

"But there's no war yet," Tom protested.

"Not yet, perhaps. However, with Germany growing ever more aggressive…" Dumbledore sighed, "ah, Tom, perhaps we are all mistaken. However, the threat of it is very real and Mr Ollivander moved to Hogsmeade."

"And Bert?" Tom asked.

"The Leaky Cauldron cannot simply pack up and move," Albus replied gravely, "however, when circumstances necessitate, Bert will send his wife and children to Hogsmeade as well."

ssssssssssss

An hour later, Ollivander looked up from storing the many, many boxes with wands to see Tom and Albus stand in the doorway.

"Ah, hello, welcome to my new premises," he said wryly, motioning around, "for now, my very own, until Bert sends the wife and children along, that is."

Tom looked around. The house was large enough, he gathered – three stories. Though, with the shop, Ollivander, and Bert's family it would be cramped to be sure. Magic could expand only so much – the neighbours would not be too happy if the house expanded into THEIR property.

"Here, Tom. Would you mind putting those on the shelves for me?" Ollivander handed him a box and he readily moved away from his frightening guardian.

It took him about ten minutes to sort the wands and by the time he was done, Dumbledore smiled.

"I need to run a small errand in town," he said, "Would you rather stay here until I return? I shall be half an hour at most."

"Yes, Sir," Tom replied.

When Albus had left, Ollivander turned his attention to the boy.

"I will not tell you not to hate him so much, because I know you can not help yourself. Do keep in mind that fear is a dangerous advisor."

Tom stared at the rows of boxes. "He's the only one I ever feared. I never was afraid of anyone…"

Ollivander nodded. "I know, child. He will try to do his best by you. We all will."

Tom gave him a slightly scathing look. "No one ever does. Mrs Cole said I am evil. Did you know? Oh, she never said it to me directly, but she did say it. I heard. I can speak to snakes. I am a Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin was evil. My history books say so. The book Professor Dumbledore gave me last night said so. So why bother?"

"Speaking to snakes is simply an ability," Ollivander said calmly, "not an indication of lawlessness. As for Salazar, the beliefs he held as ideal made it into the books while his actual practices did not. How else do you think halfblooded or Muggleborn children could be Sorted into his House? Salazar preferred purebloods. In his ideal world, they were the most worthy of wielding magic. However, when it came down to it, he had halfblood and muggleborn students as well, and many earned his respect. Eventually he left the school, yes, as many students and parents began to take offense. Godric felt it was bad for the school to have such conflicting ideals and Salazar was asked to leave. However, that did not make him evil, Tommy."

The boy barely reacted, and soon they returned to the safer and more familiar topic of wandlore, but Ollivander made a mental note to speak with his friend at the earliest opportunity.

sssssssssss

Soon Tommy's behaviour could no longer escape the rest of the school. As Albus Dumbledore was the victim of many pranks, outright disobedience and even one or two physical attacks, Tom gained a reputation for being volatile and aggressive. Interestingly, he was a model student in his other classes, though the fact was lost on all but Horace Slughorn.

At long last, Armando Dippet ordered his Transfiguration Professor up to his office.

"That boy is out of control, Dumbledore," he nearly shouted, showing a hand covered in burn cream. "My knife at dinner – I picked it up and burned my hand. I noticed I had sat down in your chair accidentally. I do not know what you see in the boy, but he is a menace! I will see him expelled for this!"


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: 1938: Adolf Hitler is Time Magazine's 'Man of the Year'

**A/N: 1938: Adolf Hitler is Time Magazine's 'Man of the Year'. **

Dippet was practically shaking with anger. "I want that boy gone!"

Dumbledore surveyed him calmly. "The boy excels in his classes. He has had some difficulty in his childhood…"

"Rubbish!" the Headmaster snapped, "the boy is a dangerous lunatic!"

"Be reasonable, Headmaster," Dumbledore implored, "the child is only eleven years old. He has problems, to be sure, but I am attempting to work with him. His aggression is aimed at me, no one else, although you have become the unfortunate victim of this prank."

He carefully studied the knife. "My. Quite an intricate hex for a first year."

Dippet slammed his hand onto his desk. Unfortunately, his burned hand and he cursed in pain.

"I will expel him."

"I see." Albus said slowly, "well, I shall start packing, then."

He turned to leave.

"What do you mean?" Dippet demanded.

"I have guardianship over Tom," the other wizard replied, "I take my duties towards him very seriously. With Tom expelled from Hogwarts, I must make other arrangements for his upbringing and education, that unfortunately prevent my further employment here. I shall, of course, write you an official letter to give notice…"

It was the first time Albus saw Armando gape like a fish. It was not a pretty sight.

A small cough alerter them that they were no longer alone. Horace Slughorn stood in the doorway, one hand on the neck of a pale, dark haired boy.

"Found him, and brought him here," he said, "as you wished, Headmaster. I also have his school record here – aside from some pranks, a model student in most classes."

That Transfiguration was not among 'most classes' went unsaid.

Dippet glared at the boy, then turned to Dumbledore who had yet to acknowledge the presence of the other two in the room.

"You would risk it all, over a boy?" he asked sceptically.

"I would risk more than that, for Tom," Albus replied calmly. "I am not saying he should not be disciplined. However, I fail to see how expulsion can do any good."

Dippet was defeated, and he knew it. "Alright. Alright, then. The Christmas holidays start in two weeks. He is suspended until the new term starts. AND I want a written apology from him. Three feet of parchment at least."

"Very well," Albus said, "he will stay in my quarters, and remain there until the start of the holidays when I will take him with me. An apology will be presented to you upon his return to school."

Horace, taking it that the conversation was over and they should leave Dippet to his own devices for now, took Tommy along to pack his trunk and move to Albus's rooms. The boy was very quiet, not saying anything and not even meeting his Head of House's eyes.

"Cheer up, boy," Horace said gruffly, "It could have been worse. Albus won't thrash you or anything, if that's what you fear. The most you have to worry about is the insane amount of work I am going to give you to keep you busy. We don't want you to fall behind in your classes. And you deserve a little discomfort for that stunt you pulled," he chided, but not overly harsh. The child looked tired and upset enough as it was.

sssssssss

Albus entered his rooms a few minutes after Tom had arrived. The boy had put his trunk in his bedroom and sat nervously on the couch, awaiting his guardian.

He felt very confused. Professor Dumbledore had risked his job for him. He even said he would have risked more. Why could he not drive that man away? It wasn't going to last anyway. It never did. Tommy felt terrified, terrified both that this would all prove to be a dream, and terrified that it wouldn't.

When his guardian entered the room, he stiffened and his face became blank. Or as blank as he could make it. Unfortunately, Albus had become very good at reading Tom's expressions.

He simply sat on the couch and pulled the child in his arms. Tom gasped, taken completely by surprise, and started to struggle. Despite a few kicks to his shin and an elbow in his face, Dumbledore managed to get a good grasp on the resisting body and held him close, rocking him like a baby. It took a very, very long time but at long last Tom relaxed marginally, finally accepting that this man was stronger – and that he was not in control.

Albus looked down at the frightened boy and smiled gently at him. "It is alright, Tommy," he said gently, "I am not going to hurt you. I am going to help you, child. You are mine now, you are my son. Nothing you will ever do can change that."

He carefully released the child, but made sure the boy sat next to him on the couch instead of fleeing the room.

"Now, the next two weeks, you will remain in my quarters unless I, or Professor Slughorn, accompany you. You will not go with anyone else, not even if they claim I have sent them. You will ask permission before you do anything. I will keep your wand in my possession. You may have it when your homework requires it. I, of course, have classes to teach, but I will be here with you as often as I can. If I am not, our House Elf Rowdy will supervise you."

A flash of rebellion joined the fear – having to relinquish so much control to his guardian had to sound like the end of the world to Tom. Albus stroked the dark hair, ignoring the flinch.

"Professor Slughorn will visit you and bring you homework and extra assignments. I will put up a schedule for you. If you work hard during the day, we will do something fun together in the evening and weekends."

He stood. "And I know Professor Dippet officially has suspended you until the new term starts, but I will consider your punishment over when the Christmas holidays start and we leave."

sssssssssss

He might not have been expelled, but being suspended and in the care of his guardian was no picnic either, Tom privately thought.

Professor Dumbledore was infinitely patient and kind with him, as well as very strict. Each morning he had to be up by six. Dress, have breakfast, wash up. His guardian would review his homework for the day and see if he needed his wand for any of it. If he did, Rowdy would get it for him when he started the particular assignment, and took it back to the Professor as soon as he was done. He had to ask permission to even go to the bathroom, though he was never refused anything he needed.

At eight, when his guardian left for his first class, Tom sat at his desk to work until ten, when Albus returned from class for a short break. On some days he had a preparation period then until lunch and stayed with Tom. Tom was allowed to pause for a little while at ten, as well, and have a drink and a snack with his guardian. When Dumbledore did not have a free period, Professor Slughorn usually did and he often spent that time up in his friend's room with Tom, grading papers and preparing class.

Usually Tom finished his assigned work for the day by the time his guardian returned from his last class of the afternoon, and they had tea together while Dumbledore checked his work. Tom only tried to slack off once. He had spent the entire evening and deep into the night re-doing everything, and was still woken up at six the next morning. If he had worked hard, however, his guardian rewarded him by playing a game with him at night, having Tom's favourite food for dinner or taking him for a stroll around the lake to get some fresh air.

Horace still had a job convincing Albus that he was doing alright. His friend was very unsure if he did the right thing. He held Tom regularly but the boy would always fight him initially. Still there was some improvement.

"Maybe I am going about this the wrong way," Albus fretted, "what if I am alienating him instead of trying to build a relationship? It is so hard to tell with that boy – you never know what he is really thinking."

Horace had to try and keep a straight face. It was not often one saw Albus Dumbledore uncertain. "The boy is no longer objecting so much to your presence anymore," he pointed out, "but I think he is still unsure about his position in your life. You are his guardian – have you considered adopting him?"

Albus sighed. "Do you think the Ministry would let me?"

Horace shrugged. "It is not uncommon. You and Aberforth both remain unmarried, yet your family needs an heir. No one would be surprised that you would adopt an orphaned Muggleborn boy of some talent to raise as your son."

"Without thinking I would ravish the child, or corrupt him to my unnatural ways?" Albus asked bitterly.

Horace frowned. "Few people know that you…have different preferences than most men. In fact, beyond myself, Aberforth and possibly Armando, I doubt anyone even suspects. There is quite some prejudice, I admit that, but would you let that stop you?"

"No," Albus replied after some contemplation, "and Tom does need to know for certain that I will not abandon him.

ssssssssssss

"Sir?" Tom asked that night.

Albus frowned. "We really need to find a more informal way for you to address me when we are in private, Tommy," he said affectionately, "Sir is for the classroom."

Tom continued to look at him, but did not respond. Dumbledore put down his utensils.

"I plan to adopt you, Tom," he said softly, "make you my son officially. How do you feel about that?"

"Your son?" Tom asked carefully.

"My son," Dumbledore confirmed, "I would officially become your father. It is perhaps too early for you to use that title…"

Tom shrugged. "That word means nothing to me," he said coldly.

Albus nodded slowly. "Then you may address me as such," he said matter-of-factly, "and I will see to it that over time, it will come to mean something to you. Now, what were you going to ask me?"

Tom eyed Merope, who peacefully slept by the fire.

"I am running low on food for Merope," he said, "may I purchase more?"

"I will purchase more for you," Albus promised, "we will visit Professor Kettleburn's office on our way back from our walk."

Tom looked pleased. The evening walks outside were welcome exercise after days of sitting at his desk, working. Albus was pleased that the boy had finally asked for something beyond permission to visit the bathroom or go to bed. The cat usually slept in Tom's room and the boy was more visibly affectionate towards her. He also entertained a good relationship with Rowdy. The House Elf was apparently less threatening to him than adult humans were, and on more than one occasion had Dumbledore entered to find Tom questioning Rowdy about House Elf magic. The first time both elf and boy had been startled and fearful by his appearance, but he quickly made sure Tom knew he was not in trouble for it. He instructed Rowdy to feel free to answer the boys questions, but also to tell Tom no if his questions were impertinent or one the Elf preferred not to answer.

That night, Dumbledore first sent off the official adoption request to the Ministry, and then took Tommy out for their walk around the lake. He bought a large supply of cat food on their way back. The two weeks that Tommy's suspension lasted were trying for both him and the boy, but he had high hopes that their time together had also furthered Tom's trust in him.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: 1938: Adolf Hitler is Time Magazine's 'Man of the Year'

**A/N: ****March 15 - German troops occupy the remaining part of Bohemia and Moravia; Czechoslovakia ceases to exist; beginning hostilities leading to WWII.**

During the Christmas holidays, Albus stayed with Tom in Hogsmeade. He had reserved rooms at the Three Broomsticks, and Tom visited Ollivander frequently. Albus continued the strict regime – Tom had to ask permission for almost everything, although Albus made it a point never to deny the boy anything that he could grant. Although Tom resented the lack of control, he did gradually grow accustomed to it. Albus made it a point, also, to continue holding the boy regularly, resistance or no. Despite his fighting, Tom did seem to need the affection, even if Albus could always expect more rebellion and misbehaviour afterwards.

Though the times did not call for much celebration, Albus took great care to celebrate Tom's twelfth birthday with a cake (courtesy of Bert's wife) and a present of books and sweets.

By the end of the holidays Tom had also completed his three-foot-long apology to the Headmaster, and on the last day Albus took him to present it.

Dippet silently took it from the boy.

"Very well, then," he said, with a glare to the child, "I suppose you can stay, but I will not tolerate any more of this behaviour, do you hear? If I hear of another incident like this, you will be expelled. Even if it does cost me my Transfiguration Professor," he moved his glare to Dumbledore.

"I am sorry, Sir," Tom said, his face radiating sincerity, "I had not meant for you to get hurt."

"The little Slytherin," Albus thought, half exasperated, half amused, "look at that innocent face!"

Dippet, who did not know Tom beyond the reports of his mischief, softened.

"Well, you served your punishment, so I suppose it is over and done with," the glare had given way to a semi-stern face, "but do not let any other reports about your bad behaviour reach my ears, young man!"

"No, Sir," Tom said quickly, and apparently sincerely, "I shall work hard, I promise."

No doubt, Albus thought, he actually meant it, too.

ssssssssssss

"How is the adoption going?" Horace asked on a lazy afternoon early February.

"They visited the Gaunts," Albus confessed.

"The Gaunts?"

"His grandfather and his uncle."

Horace started. "The boy has family?"

"Wizard family, no less," Albus sighed, "though utterly unsuited to care for him. They were imprisoned at the time of his birth. They willingly gave up the rights to him – there is no problem in that regard. However, I cannot keep this information from Tom for very long. He deserves to know."

"Knowing he has family that gave him up without even seeing him is not going to do him any good," Horace said sharply.

"I know. That is why I am hesitant to tell him, at least for now. They are Dark, Horace – everything we are trying to keep Tom away from."

"Did you ever find out about the boy's father?"

Dumbledore laughed, a short bitter laugh. "The Ministry people did not notice, but the mansion next to the Gaunts is Riddle Mansion. A Muggle family resides there. I made inquiries. They are haughty and proud. The man that is supposedly Tom's father left his wife and unborn son to return to his parents and terrorize the village, or so the inhabitants told me."

"So neither family is suited to take care of the boy," Horace concluded.

"Nor are they willing to," Albus nodded, "and that is what I do not want Tom to find out just yet. Perhaps later, when the information will not be so damaging to him anymore."

"So the Ministry will agree to the adoption?"

"The only alternative is to send the boy back to a Muggle orphanage in London," Albus said, "no one else has shown an interest in the boy. I already have guardianship. I think there is a reasonable chance that they will agree – but they will want to speak with Tom, as well."

"Ah," Horace leaned his head back, "and the boy will say that he hates you if asked directly."

"That is what I fear. I can hardly give him orders on what to say. I already feel guilty enough keeping his real family from him."

Horace grimaced. "It does seem wrong, keeping information from the lad. But you are not the one keeping his family from him. They choose to do so themselves. You keep information from him, but only to protect him. There is a difference."

"Who am I to decide…" Albus began.

"You are his guardian," Horace cut in sternly, "you ARE the one who decides these things for him. He is a child. That is why he needs you, to make these decisions, whether he knows it or not – and whether he will later agree with them or no! A guardian plays the role of a parent, Albus, and soon you are really going to be his father. Act like it. If you decide that knowing this is not in Tom's best interest at the moment, then do not tell him. I happen to agree with you in this particular matter. If I did not, I would also tell you, as I am sure you know. Being ready and willing to admit to mistakes and rectify wrong decisions is sensible, continually second-guessing yourself is not. Tom is smart and devious. He would sense your doubt and use it against you."

ssssssssss

Tom still acted up in his class, but only in that class, Albus noted with a sigh. Fortunately, the boy had taken Dippet's warning to heart and did not risk expulsion again by doing anything too obvious in public.

On March sixteenth, Tom entered the Transfiguration classroom with nothing but his wand. No homework. Nothing. He defiantly stared at his guardian, daring him to say something. Albus simply marked a 0 on his grading sheet and did not comment.

After a lesson spent mostly lecturing and partly on practical, Albus dismissed the class. "Stay behind, Tom."

The boy reluctantly took his seat again, waiting. He expected to be lectured, given lines to write or another punishment, but his guardian simply motioned for him to follow into his office.

"Tom," the Professor started, his face serious, "you are going to spend the Easter holidays next week with Bert and his family in Hogsmeade. I am afraid I must leave you for a while."

Tom felt a panic creep up his belly, through his stomach and settling in his throat.

Albus took the boys hands in his own. "Tommy, are you alright? They will look after you, and you will be so full of good food and sweets that you will return ten pounds heavier than you left."

Tom simply nodded. "Should I take my trunk, Sir?" he finally asked.

"That is probably best," Albus nodded, his mind half on the many things he was going to have to do.

Hitler had broken the treaties. No doubt Gellert had not been able to find what he was looking for, and the two now expanded their territory – and search area. It was now impossible to avoid war, and the parties involved – he, his brother, Horace, Ollivander, all the important and strongest members of the Wizarding World – had no choice but to take on the magical side of the war. Meetings to plan, strategy, meetings with the Muggle Prime Minister…it was not even certain they would be done before the end of the Easter holidays. Fortunately he could be sure that Bert and his wife would take good care of Tom until he returned.

ssssssssss

"We must act quickly," one of the youngest of the group and liaison to the Muggle Prime Minister, Ignatius Prewett , advocated, "the Muggles are all for letting things go, unfortunately. Yes, they want Hitler stopped but that damn Versailles treaty makes them feel too guilty to act. We must stop their progression NOW."

"Germany is ready for war, we are not," Horace countered, "I agree with you, Ignatius, it would be best to stop him early, but unfortunately we are unprepared, both Muggles and Wizards. Frankly, I think that without the United States involved, we stand a snowball's chance in hell to nip this in the bud."

"And we all know they are not going to get involved," Abe grunted, "not until they are forced, anyway. My sources on the mainland have no idea who the Wizard behind Hitler is, or where we can find him."

"Then how do you claim to know?" Ignatius said in confusion.

Albus sighed. "It can only be Gellert Grindelwald. Something of this magnitude requires a strong Dark Wizard – Gellert has the…personality, skill and knowledge to pull it off."

"Why would he ally himself with a Muggle?" Ignatius asked, "I understood he thinks…"

"Despite his ideals, Grindelwald is not opposed to using Muggles as a means to his ends," Horace replied, "they are not allies, boy. Grindelwald considers Hitler his attack dog – someone he can manipulate. And the Muggle is certainly vicious enough to go along with it. Probably even arrogant enough to believe he and Grindelwald are equals."

"They both believe they dominate the other," Ignatius quickly caught on and a gleam appeared in his eyes, "that is something worth remember. It might be possible to turn them against each other."

"Good thinking, boy," Aberforth patted the younger man on his back so firmly he almost sprawled over the assembled parchments on the table, "but we must confirm our suspicions first."

"Perhaps I can lure Gellert out of hiding," Albus mused, "I might still be able…"

"NO!" Horace and Aberforth both cut him off, "No. Absolutely not," they glared.

Ignatius stared at the three men. "Lure…?"

Aberforth looked at him and took a calculated risk. Ignatius was young, but cynical and held no illusions about the real world. A fervent prankster, especially on those he despised, but loyal and understanding of those he considered friends. They would be working together closely for possibly years to come. It was unfair and counterproductive to keep secrets in their little group.

"Gellert Grindelwald and Albus were involved when they were young," he said bluntly, "it did not end well. Grindelwald is extremely charismatic and a dangerous Dark Wizard – that is why Horace and I are reluctant to see them meet again."

The other man paled while Albus turned around to stare out of the window, shaking with both shame and anger.

"That is…" Ignatius cleared his throat, "I understand. However, we do not have many people capable of fighting such a wizard…"

"Which is why I must face him," Albus muttered, "once we are sure it is a risk we can take."

It was never mentioned again, and Albus was relieved to find that his former student's good opinion of him had not changed for the knowledge.

sssssssssssss

The whole planning and meeting took longer than expected, however, and the Easter holidays had already ended two weeks before he finally, weary and pessimistic about the coming months, arrived back at Hogwarts. It was a Sunday night, and he had no time or energy to do anything but stumble to his bed.

His classes the following week were quiet and uninterrupted by any mischief whatsoever. Tom had in his absence behaved like a model student, and apparently decided to continue that behaviour. His homework was done, on time and well above the standard he demanded of his students.

It was good to see the boy's attitude had improved - that was one less thing to worry about, he thought.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: May 22, 1939 – Germany and Italy sign the Pact of Steel, requiring both countries to come to each other's aid when war is declared, remain in constant communication and follow

**A/N: May 22, 1939 – Germany and Italy sign the Pact of Steel, requiring both countries to come to each other's aid when war is declared, remain in constant communication and follow similar foreign policy.**

"Italy?" Horace shook his head as he took a bite of his lunch, "why Italy? It is not even ready for war."

"It will be," Albus said with a sigh, "and do not forget that Italy has a rich wizarding history. Gellert does not only seek the Hallows, he seeks any artefact that might help him achieve his goals."

"And so Germany entered a treaty with Italy."

"Is it not perfect? Free reign for Gellert to search for whatever he wishes, and military and economical support for Hitler. War is a costly affair – even unprepared allies are valuable."

Albus shook his head. "We could hardly expect them to remain without allies, Horace. I am just worried that we are making such little progress."

Horace rubbed his face. "Nothing to be done about that, I fear, Albus. Patience. I hear Tom has been on his best behaviour lately," he changed the topic, his face becoming even more serous as he eyed the boy in question.

His friend nodded. "Not one prank or attack, though I am worried – he avoids me."

"Oh, that is not good. Not good at all," Horace sighed, "I fear that our leaving has hurt the boy."

"We had to…" Albus began.

"Obviously we had to. But did you explain to him that it had nothing to do with his behaviour? That he suddenly stopped misbehaving since you left is not a good sign, Albus."

Dumbledore leaned back heavily. "Oh. Oh, no. No, he can't possibly think…"

"Who knows what the child thinks? He is very likely to misinterpret events, Albus – you cannot expect a troubled child to think rationally."

Albus looked up at the Potions Master in distress. "I must talk to him."

Horace checked a book on his desk. "He has Potions as his last class today. I will send him to your office at the start of class – you do not have a class this afternoon, do you? Good."

ssssssssss

"Mr Riddle," the Potions Master held Tom back at the door to the classroom, "you are to report to Professor Dumbledore's office immediately. You may hand in your homework and leave directly."

"But Sir, the class…"

"You are excused from my class today," Professor Slughorn said, and softer, "Do hear him out, Tom. Things are not as they may have seemed to you."

With that cryptic message, Tom handed in his roll of parchment – two feet on the different effects of plant vs creature parts in potions – and headed towards his guardian's office.

"Come," was the immediate response to his knock.

Professor Dumbledore got up when he entered. "Tommy," he said, his voice warm, "come along, please."

They entered the quarters where Tom had spent so much time in the past months. He glanced at the door to the hallway where his bedroom was – no, used to be.

"I am glad to be back," the Professor said softly, "I missed you."

Tom stared at the carpet.

"Tommy," the voice entreated, more forceful, "how are you feeling?"

He kept silent, a light shrug of his shoulder all the response he gave.

Then he heard a sigh and expected to be dismissed. Instead, though, a hand cupped his chin and forced him to look up.

"If you will not tell me, then, I shall tell _you_ how you felt," his guardian's voice was stern but incredibly kind at the same time.

"When you acted up in class the last time, when I told you to stay behind you expected to be punished. When I told you I would be sending you to Bert for the holidays, you were convinced you had finally managed to drive me away and I was going to wash my hands of you," Albus caught a trembling hand, forcing the boy to stay in place or he would have fled there and then.

"Then I did not come back after the holidays." He paused. "You were so frightened, Tommy," he whispered. Not a question. A statement.

Tom did not dare to move. The hands kept him in place but he hardly dared to breathe. His guardian knew of the horrible black feeling in his stomach! How could that be?

"It is my fault," Albus continued a bit louder, angry with himself for his stupidity, "I did not explain properly to you what I was going to do – and that in no way was I leaving because of you."

He pulled the boy closer. "You are my son, Tom. Nothing can change that anymore. I left – well, in a little while I will explain to you why I left – and I could not take you with me. I sent you to Bert to make sure you would be looked after until I returned. It was not punishment, I was not throwing you away and I am sorry that I failed to make that clear to you."

Tom's eyes widened. Could it be true? Then he felt the desperate, unhappy feeling that had been in his stomach for weeks pop and rage took over, flowing through him in waves, small at first but bigger and bigger until it was a tsunami he could no longer hold back. He had been so frightened, for no reason!

His guardian pulled him on his lap, holding him, and Tom screamed. He lashed out, kicking and punching the older man. His legs flailed like mad, not caring where they landed.

"NO! NO!! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU! I WILL STAB YOU WHILE YOU SLEEP UNTIL YOU DIE AND I WILL BURN YOU DOWN AND…AND…."

Deep inside of him, the part that wanted to be a good boy, the part that wanted to love his guardian stared in horror as the bad, angry part of him lashed out. Still, he was held and the strong arms seemed to have no intention of letting him go. He kicked and screamed until he had no energy left. Then he sobbed in frustration, almost choking. Finally, when all his strength was spent, he simply lay limp in his guardians arms, trembling as he waited for the Professor to push him away.

Albus had a hard time at first holding on to the hysterical child. Elbows repeatedly hit his face, fists pounded on his chest and the side of his leg was bruised and scratched from the boy's kicking. It took a long, long time, but at last, the child calmed – or at least, was too tired to continue. He held the boy close as he cried, rubbing his back once he no longer had to restrain him so tightly.

Fearful eyes looked up at him and he realized he was looking at something special – the part of Tom that, over the past year, had learned to love and trust him. The part that was usually hidden underneath the anger. This was the boy he had been trying to reach.

"Hello, my boy," he said gently, "you must be tired, hmmm? Close your eyes, little one. I will be right here when you wake up, I promise."

Tom doubted it, but his body was exhausted and he could not have moved even if he had wanted to. So he simply obeyed, and let sleep wash over him.

Albus stroked the sweaty hair away from Tom's sleeping face, and adjusted the body a little so he could lean back comfortably, Tom still in his arms.

"What a fool you are, Albus Dumbledore," he chastised himself, "letting the child think you abandoned him. You should at least have written to him! But no, you had to get caught up in your meetings and strategy and memories…and leave the boy doubting your affection for him."

He shook his head in annoyance and held Tom a little tighter. "I must do better next time."

Tom registered the words faintly in his half-asleep mind. Now that his tantrum was over and the angry Tom had retreated, the fearful but trusting part of himself came quietly forward to allow him to curl up a little, settling more comfortably in his guardian's arms.

Albus smiled, a lump in his throat. He knew only pure fatigue allowed the boy to relax in his arms as he did, but perhaps it was still a start – a second chance.

When Tom awoke an hour later, he was still in his guardian's arms. Though he felt thoroughly embarrassed, and moved from Albus's lap the instant he was awake enough to realize he was in it, he was amazed and relieved that the Professor had kept his promise to stay with him.

Realizing that Tom needed his presence, but also a bit of emotional space after his outburst, Dumbledore stood up as well.

"Stay here tonight, Tom," he suggested, "I am sure Rowdy won't mind picking up your books. You can do your homework in my office while I grade essays."

After the high emotions of the early afternoon, they both desired some peace and quiet. Tom spent the rest of the afternoon doing his assignments. Albus kept an eye on him and was amazed to see that despite Tom's constant refusal to do the work he assigned for Transfiguration, the boy had kept up with the subject. In fact, as he saw Tom practice, he thought Tom probably did better than most of his classmates. Defence against the Dark Arts was his best subject – he was close to finishing the coursework for the second years.

That night, Tom crawled into his bed in his guardian's rooms. Albus insisted on tucking him in again, and Tom decided that it was easier to let the man fuss over him than trying to resist. Yes, that was the only reason he laid still as the Professor pulled the blankets up to his chin and stroked his hair, he told himself. Albus left with a much lighter feeling and hopeful that his relationship with the boy was on the mend.

sssssssssssss

Tom had a free period. He was supposed to have Charms, but the Professor had come down with a heavy cold and the class was cancelled. He had already finished all his homework and figured he could probably do some extra reading.

As he entered the Great Hall – which was far warmer to read in than the library – a boy beckoned him over.

"Hey, you! Riddle, isn't it?"

Tom nodded.

"I am Alastor, Alastor Moody," the boy introduced himself. He motioned to the chess board in front of him. "I wanted to play a game, but my friends chickened out. Do you play?"

"A little," Tom sat on the bench opposite the boy. He liked chess, and he ready didn't have anything better to do.

"Good!"

They set up the board and played a gruelling game. Alastor was a very good player, but Tom had often played against his guardian, who was practically unbeatable. The game ended in a tie.

"Excellent!" Alastor leaned back in satisfaction two hours later, "that was the best game I ever played here!"

A few older students had come to watch, and nodded in agreement.

"I am the new secretary of the Chess Club," Alastor said, "and that," he pointed at a fifth year boy, "is the president. Do you want to join?"

"You will need permission from your parents, and your own chess set," the fifth year added.

Tom hesitated.

"Oh, come on, it will be fun," Alastor insisted, "we meet on Wednesday and Saturday nights, but you are only obliged to show up when you have to play a game for the competition we hold. Otherwise you can just come and play a few games with other members if you like. Contribution is a knut so we can buy a nice prize for the winner at the end of term."

Asking his guardian for favours was not something Tom liked to do, but the Club greatly tempted him. It would be nice to play against others. "I will ask my guardian," he said softly.

sssssssss

Albus looked up in surprise when Tom entered his office. Of course, he invited the boy often but Tom rarely showed up unexpected.

"Hello, my boy. What can I do for you?"

Tom hesitated. His behaviour, after the day he threatened to kill his guardian, had been exemplary, but he was not quite sure the Professor would grant him permission just to do him a favour. He certainly did not deserve it.

"I…" he began, staring at his shoes unable to make his lips formulate the request.

"Tommy," his guardian squatted in front of him, "what do you need?"

"N-Nothing," Tom bit his lip. "I…there was this boy…Alastor Moody…"

Dumbledore nodded. He knew the name. A very forceful boy. Not awfully good at Herbology or Potions, but very talented when it came to wandwork.

"He asked me to play chess with him and then he asked if I wanted to join the Chess Club," Tom rattled out before he lost his nerve again, "but I have to have your permission and I would have to get my own chess set and it's a knut a term…" he trailed off, his gaze on the carpet again, fearing his guardian would scold him for asking so much.

Dumbledore grinned widely. Finally Tom was showing an interest in something more social. He was tempted to find the Moody boy and give him a thousand House points, but that would be considered biased, no doubt.

"Of course I will give you permission," he said, "do you need a note?"

Tom nodded. Albus quickly wrote a note stating that he gave Tom permission to join the Chess Club. He handed it to the boy with a knut he had fished from his pocket.

"Here," he handed it to the astonished-looking child, "Go tell Alastor that you can join."

He smiled as Tom stuttered his thanks and rushed out of his office. Then he put on his cloak and headed to Hogsmeade.

The next morning at breakfast, an owl delivered a package to Tom containing a beautifully carved new chess set. Tom stared at it in surprise and unfolded the note that came with it.

_Dear Tom,_

_Of course you would have been allowed to borrow my chess set, but if you are to be a regular member of the Club you will need your own. I hope you like this set. You and I will need to play a game with it soon to test it out._

The note was simply signed with 'father', the first time either of them used the title. Tom looked up at the Head Table, shooting his guardian a quick look of thanks.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N On September first, 1939 Hitler invades Poland

**A/N On September first, 1939 Hitler invades Poland. England and France declare war on September third. **

"Knight to E4."

Tom frowned, then moved his tower.

"Good one." Alastor grinned, "so, you are Muggleborn, right?"

"Apparently not," Tom said, taking advantage of Alastor's apparent distraction to try and sneak his own knight behind the defence line. "My guardian told me my mother was a witch. She died giving birth to me, so I didn't know before."

"And your father?"

"Don't know. Left my mother, I guess."

"That sucks. My father did that too."

"Oh?" Tom looked up, "you didn't grow up in an orphanage, did you?"

"No," Alastor bit his lip as he noticed the trap Tom had placed for him on the chessboard and pondering a way to avoid it, "my mother remarried."

"So you have a stepfather," Tom concluded.

"Yeah. Well, he's my real Dad now since he adopted me and I took his name and all that. Is your guardian going to adopt you, or isn't he very interested in you? That varies, you know. Mum asked her Uncle to be my guardian before she remarried, but I never saw or heard from him in all my life."

"He's talked about adopting me," Tom admitted, "not sure if he's going to do it."

"Well, if he does, and you like him, you might as well say yes," Alastor offered his advice, "My Dad is the greatest guy in the world. I'm glad he adopted me."

"Didn't your real father have to give permission for that?" Tom asked.

"Technically, but his response was something along the lines of 'what do I care what happens to the brat'. I overheard Mum and Dad talk about it one night when they thought I was asleep."

Tom almost groaned when Alastor skilfully evaded the trap and even managed to force Tom's pieces to retreat. The chess set his guardian had given him was great, but still new so the pieces weren't used to him yet. It would improve with time.

"Are you going to see him, you know, later?" he casually asked Alastor.

"I don't know. Maybe. Why?"

"See who he is. Let him see what you became. Revenge, maybe."

"I used to think about that," Alastor admitted, "but my Dad is right when he says revenge on my father would be a waste of time. My Dad said that any man who is stupid enough not to recognize what a great son they could have had, doesn't deserve that even another thought is wasted on him. And he said wanting revenge will only eat you alive inside, and does no one any good, least of all yourself. I thought it sucked at the time, but I guess he's right."

"It might be nice to see him sometime though, and show him what a great wizard you've become," Tom mused as he moved his Queen out of danger and slowly pushed back onto Alastor's half of the board.

"Yes, but what for? My Dad is the one who encourages me and helps me when I need it. He's the one I want to impress. I want my Dad to be proud of me because, when I do something he likes, he looks at me with a special kind of laugh. That's my Dad. My father is a man who walked away from me and didn't care. Why would I work for someone like that? When I work hard to impress my Dad I get rewarded. Why would I work hard for someone who would spit on it?"

That made Tom think. Showing the father who abandoned him what he could do had been a dream of his, but what Alastor said made sense. What was in it for him? Unbidden, Professor Dumbledore's face and voice drifted into his mind, the slight twinkle in his eyes when Tom managed a difficult Transfiguration, the gentle voice that wished him goodnight. He shook his head to clear it.

"What was the orphanage like?" Alastor asked, "did they beat you and make you work and only feed you gruel?"

"Oh, no," Tom said, "I mean, in some orphanages. But Mrs Cole was quite decent, really. She tried to take care of us. There wasn't always enough food to go around, though, when the rich people didn't donate. Or donated idiotic things."

"Eh?" Alastor gave him a confused stare.

"Like one time, maybe two years ago, a gentleman came in and told Mrs Cole that he paid for a trip for all of us to Brighton, to the seaside."

"What's wrong with that? Holidays are nice," Alastor shrugged.

"I suppose. But at that point there was barely enough food and most of us needed new clothes. And then Mrs Cole not only had to find money somehow to get us new clothes quickly, but also bathing suits and all."

"Couldn't she have told the man that, and ask him to give her the money instead?"

Tom made a face. "Are you kidding? Orphanages can't WANT anything. We have to be properly grateful for everything bestowed upon us. So we were all marched into the office to thank the kind gentleman, who had just made sure that our milk had to be watered down to the point where we could actually see through it and we went from three to two slices of bread a day for a while."

"Ouch," Alastor commented as he moved his bishop, "You won't be returning there, will you? I mean, if your guardian is thinking about adopting you. Check."

"No, I won't go back there," Tom said determined, "So tell me more about your Dad."

"Well, he's a great person, like I said," Alastor's face brightened a little each time he spoke of his Dad, Tom noticed. Strange.

"I was four when he started dating Mum, I guess. At first he just came to visit, or take Mum and me on outings, and later he sometimes took me on my own, too. We had fun. I liked him. On one of those outings he told me that he thought my mother was lovely, and that he would like to marry her. He asked how I felt about it, and I said I thought it was a good idea. So they married, and he treated me like his own son from the first. Even after they had children of their own."

"You have siblings?" Tom asked. That was the first he'd heard of them.

"Yes, three. A sister and two brothers. They're only small, my youngest brother is just a baby. I think he'll be walking when I get home for the summer, he was already crawling at Christmas. Does your guardian have a family?"

"No," Tom said, then added, "at least I don't think so. He's not married as far as I know. Can't imagine he will marry anytime soon either. Check and mate."

"What? Oh, you're right!" Alastor grimaced, "such a bad habit, talking while playing. It was fun though. Want another round?"

Tom shook his head. "No, I have to get back to my dorm, it's getting late and I need to do my Transfiguration essay."

In fact, he still had to start on it. But given that he had never done any homework for that class before, his guardian would be shocked to receive even half a foot of essay from him.

"Do you know much about him – your father, I mean?" Alastor asked as they walked through the almost empty hallways.

"No. My guardian promised he'd try and find out, but he hasn't told me anything."

"You should ask him. Maybe he is afraid that what he found out will hurt you, and won't tell you until you ask for it. Grown-ups are a bit stupid that way sometimes."

Tom nodded, and took a left turn to the Slytherin Common Room, briefly returning Alastor's parting wave.

sssssssssssssss

Albus Dumbledore hummed as he walked into the classroom. He loved his job. Even with the occasional mishap. Why, just the other day young Mulciber had accidentally Transfigured donkey ears on Minerva McGonagall instead of on the book in front of him. The poor girl had glared at Mulciber for the entire time while he removed the ears. She had a strange way of glaring – she'd look all stern and her lips would thin considerably. He imagined she would make a great, and feared, teacher if she chose to go into his own profession.

A note floated in, and he snatched it quickly from the air – the nasty things did have a habit of playing tag with their receivers. Upon reading the contents of the missive, he let out a worried sigh.

The class filed in – first years. Tom's class. Also the last class of the day.

"Today we will start on the theory of Transfiguring living objects. We will not start the actual spellwork for it for quite some time, but the theory is vast and it won't hurt to be prepared. Obviously, when you attempt to Transfigure animals or people, it is extremely dangerous and potentially painful or lethal for whomever it is you are Transfiguring. It must be approached with extreme caution."

After a thorough lecture on the dangers, and then an even longer lecture on the basics of Transfiguring living material, he assigned the class a few chapters to read.

"I will collect your essays now. Everyone who scores an E or higher on this essay, will be exempt from the essay part of your summer assignments."

Excited whispers ran through the class as he passed each child to collect the homework. When he came to Tom, the boy to his immense surprise held out a scroll to him.

Tom had to suppress a gasp. He hadn't quite understood what Alastor was talking about when he said his Dad looked at him with a special kind of laugh when he did something right. Now he did. The look on his guardian's face was definitely meant for him – a small but bright smile that told him the Professor was extremely proud of him.

He barely had time to think about it when the bell rang.

"Tom, stay behind please," Professor Dumbledore said to him.

"Tommy," Albus began when they were alone, "The Ministry finally reacted to my application to adopt you. They will send someone over to talk to both of us next week, and then they'll decide within a few days."

Tom nodded. "What about…my relatives? If any remain, shouldn't they have to give permission? Did you find my father?"

The older man looked down briefly before turning his gaze back to Tom.

"I did. Yes, we had to ask him. I am…I am very sorry, Tom…"

"He wanted nothing to do with me," Tom concluded.

"I'm afraid so," his guardian said softly, "He is a Muggle who distrusts and hates magic. I am sorry, Tom. I should probably have told you before now, but…well, I did not want to hurt you."

Tom nodded. A hand cupped his chin and he looked up into the blue eyes.

"Tom, it is alright to be angry. It is horrible to hear your father does not want you – it's his loss, but still – and it is alright to be angry with me for keeping information about him from you."

"I…I am angry," Tom muttered, "but I guess I should have known. If he wanted me, he would have come looking."

"He is a fool," Dumbledore said with conviction, "for not wanting such a wonderful son."

Tom went red, turned and fled the room, hoping he'd have time to sort out his confusion before the Ministry people came to talk to him.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N The ****Phoney War****, also called the ****Twilight War**** by Winston Churchill, was a phase in early World War II – in the months following the German invasion of Poland in September 1939 and preceding the Battle of France in May 1940 – that was marked by a lack of major military operations in Continental Europe. The great powers of Europe had declared war on one another, yet neither side had committed to launching a significant attack, and there was relatively little fighting on the ground.**

On the morning the Ministry people would come, Albus kept Tom with him. The boy had seemed distracted for days.

"Tom," the older wizard said, as the child wrestled with straightening his formal robes, "is there anything you want to ask me? Anything you wish to know? Has something been bothering you?"

Tom shrugged. "Alastor said…"

"Yes?" the Transfiguration professor prodded.

"Alastor was happy when his stepdad adopted him, but he still had his mother."

It took Dumbledore a little time to distill an actual question from this statement, but finally it clicked. He very nearly laughed, but realized in time that would probably be a bad response.

"You worry about what would happen if I were to marry?"

Tom attempted to dug his toe into the carpet.

"Tommy," Albus knelt in front of him, "I am not going to marry. But even if I were, I would never consider a partner who did not accept you. I want you to be my son, and that means that you come first."

"Albus?" the voice of Armando Dippet came from the door, "there are people from the Ministry here."

That morning, as a matter of civility, Albus had informed Armando Dippet on his plans. The Headmaster had not been pleased to be kept out of the loop, to say the least, but the man did understand that his own reaction to the boy from the very beginning was paramount to the distrust his Transfiguration Professor showed. That his Potions Master had known did not surprise him – Horace and Albus were close friends. Besides, as the child's Head of House, Horace would need to be informed.

A large, businesslike woman, a man Albus recognized (he had left Hogwarts a few years before – Ravenclaw, if he remembered correctly) and a younger woman carrying a briefcase entered. Tommy stiffened slightly as the older witch turned her attention to him.

"So, this is the boy, Mr Dumbledore?"

"This is Tom, yes," Albus replied calmly.

"You are his guardian, and now you wish to adopt him," the woman continued, "that is correct as well?"

"It is."

"And both you and he understand that by adopting him he becomes your son in every sense? That he will have rights as your first son, even if you later father children of your own?" the woman now sounded skeptical, as if she did not quite approve. Dumbledore felt Tom stiffen even more besides him.

"I do understand, which is why I want to adopt him."

"You understand then, that the name of your family will be carried on by a boy from such a family?" the dislike was clear now.

"Madam," Albus's patience had run out, "I wish to adopt Tom because he is a wonderful young man. Whatever perceived defects there are in his ancestry do not concern me, and neither should they concern you. If there is anyone's situation and ancestry you should research, it is mine, since you are here to judge if I am capable of raising a child."

He swore he saw the younger woman quirk a smile. The man looked a little wide-eyed. The older witch cleared her throat.

"Alright. We found no criminal record for you, though we did review your father's records. However, since they do not concern you, we decided to disregard them. Your brother also indicated no objection to you adopting an heir."

"We know you can support Tom," the younger woman cut in, "and his own family is not an option. However, I am curious what Tom himself thinks."

The boy's face was completely blank. "Ma'am?"

"Has Professor Dumbledore been a good guardian to you?" she asked.

Tom frowned. "Could you explain?" he asked carefully. Dumbledore nearly groaned. Tom was hiding again. Though it still could work out perfectly fine, he wanted to rid the boy of that habit. Then again, what child wouldn't be wary and nervous when faced with such an inquisition?

"Has he taken an interest in your life? Has he disciplined you if you misbehaved, without abusing you? Has he provided you with the things you need?"

Tom shrugged. "He grounded me when I broke his things. I have never wanted for food since he took me from the orphanage. I did not need it, but he gave me permission to join the Chess Club. He gave me my cat."

The recital of all Albus had done for the boy sounded rather dull, but the fact that Tom was giving them an answer longer than two words impressed the Transfiguration Professor.

"A cat?" the younger woman said with interest, "really?"

"Yes," Tom replied, slightly more animated, "she is very smart. Do you want to see her?"

The older woman frowned again, but before she could object, the younger had nodded. Tom left briefly to retrieve Merope from his room, and the young woman took the opportunity to ask Dumbledore a few questions.

"Armando Dippet spoke of problems with him early in the year."

"Yes," the Transfiguration Professor steepled his fingers. "You must understand that Tom grew up in a Muggle orphanage. I do not know if you are aware of the severity of the problems in the Muggle world…"

The older woman was apparently oblivious, but the man and young woman nodded.

"Tom has – social issues. The matron of the orphanage he was at did her best, but she could not prevent the constant changes in the staff. As a result, Tom has grown up with difficulties relating to other people and severe problems building a relationship with anyone. He has made a lot of progress over the past year, but I fear it will take many years for him to heal completely."

"So, you want to take on an antisocial boy from a family of Dark Wizards."

"Mrs Ellerton!" the younger woman reproachfully said, "that is quite enough."

"Of course, Miss Harris," Mrs Ellerton grudgingly quieted.

Tom entered the room at that point, holding Merope in his arms. She had grown from adorable kitten to active, full-grown cat, but she still followed Tom around wherever she could.

"A kneazle," the young woman smiled in delight, "wonderful! I always had pet kneazles when I was young, they made such marvelous companions."

Tom nodded.

"Have you made friends at school?" Miss Harris asked, stroking Merope's fur. The kneazle purred and leaned into the hand. Tom relaxed marginally – if Merope liked this woman, she was probably safe. That was one of the things he had learned over this past year; his pet had an exceptional talent of picking out 'safe' people. She liked Alastor, too, though that might be because of the bacon Alastor kept sneaking her during breakfast.

"I talk to some people at the chess club. And I do homework and such with Alastor," Tom replied. He did not like the older woman. Merope seemed to keep an eye on her as well.

"Young Alastor Moody?" Miss Harris smiled brightly, "his adoption by his stepfather was the first case I ever did on my own. Of course, Alastor would be attending Hogwarts as well already – how time flies, don't you agree, Mrs Ellerton?"

Mrs Ellerton replied with something that with a lot of imagination might have been an affirmative; at least Miss Harris took it as a 'yes'.

"Well, I see no objections," Miss Harris happily ignored her grumpy colleague, "there is only one question remaining, then, I guess."

She turned to the boy. "Tom, do you WANT to be adopted by Mr Dumbledore?"

sssssssss

It was the most frightening moment of the entire interview. Albus thought his heart would stop. This was the question he had feared, the one he had hoped would be conveniently left out. Because he was sure Tom did not want to be adopted, period. The boy was hardly ready to acknowledge he wanted and needed such a relationship, even though he needed it desperately.

Tom stared at the woman. No, he did not want to be adopted by this man, and at the same time he wanted it very much. Professor Dumbledore frightened him beyond his wits with his ability to almost look into his mind. Tom, too, knew about the dark that lingered inside of him, the anger that overtook him at times, and he feared the man who had seen it. Who had taken it upon himself to free him from it.

At the same time, he had never gotten the kind of attention and gentleness that had been shown to him. He never wanted for anything. He had not even asked for a chessboard and had received one.

He thought back to all the times he had lost it with this man. Too many to count. And yet the Professor remained, holding him, caring for him, letting him be part of his life. Letting him know that he was wanted somewhere, just as he was.

"_Well, if he does, and you like him, you might as well say yes,"_ Alastors voice sounded in his head, _"My Dad is the greatest guy in the world. I'm glad he adopted me."_

I might as well say yes, Tom thought. Giving control of his life to Albus Dumbledore was terrifying, yet felt good at the same time.

"….yes," he finally whispered.

He could have sworn he saw his guardian's – no, his new father's – eyes mist over as the so far silent man took the parchments for the adults to sign.

"Tommy Dumbledore," his father put both hands on his shoulders, his eyes shining with pride and affection, "Welcome to our family, son."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N August 25****th****, 1939. Great Britain and Poland sign a pact of mutual support. Britain pledges its support for Poland should it be attacked. This is a setback for Hitler's strategic plans. Even though war is declared upon Hitlers invasion of Poland, only minor skirmishes occur until May of the following year. Great Britain and Germany ration various food products – meat and flour. During summer, Hitler had guaranteed the neutrality of Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Luxembourg and Switzerland. Denmark is attacked in April of 1940. Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg fall during Operation Fall Gelb that starts on May 10****th****. **

If Albus Dumbledore had thought his new son would suddenly be a bright, happy child, he would have been sorely mistaken. Fortunately he was too much of a realist by now to be very surprised when Tom avoided him for most of the next week. He was doing well in class, there were no complaints, but he was certainly a bit distant. The end of term was approaching fast, and Albus's meetings with the small group of wizards involved in fighting Grindelwald became more frequent as the threat of war increased.

Tom, meanwhile, kept himself busy studying for his tests. He was allowed to take the second year tests, and if he passed, he would be placed in third year come September. Alastor grinned when he heard that particular bit of news. He himself was a second-year Gryffindor, so they would share some classes. They already did, in Defense, which Tom took with the second year students.

The end-of-the-year project for that class dealt with shielding in duelling, and they had to work on it in pairs, since the project included both a written and practical assignment. Alastor had firmly ignored his house mates and asked Tom to be his study partner for that particular project. Tom, secretly pleased, nodded.

"I have some books I bought this summer," he said, "on duelling."

"Good. My Dad is an Auror," Alastor said happily, "if we start on the project soon, we can send our work to him first to look it over and suggest improvements."

Tom readily agreed.

"Say, you never did tell me if your guardian ended up adopting you after all," Alastor noted as they walked towards the Hall a little later, both with their school books and extra books under their arm, "did he?"

"Yeah," Tom replied, a bit hesitant, "he did. The woman who was there, Miss Harris, she said she remembered you from when your stepdad adopted you."

Alastor beamed. "I remember her! She brought two chocolate frogs and gave me one, then we tried to see whose frog jumped farthest. I won."

Merope, who had been following the boys around while taking an occasional dive towards the walls to chase imaginary mice, let out a happy mew.

"Merope liked her," Tom shrugged, "there was this awful woman, though…Mrs Ellerton."

He told Alastor the things the older woman had said. Alastor screwed up his nose in disgust. "You know, we should send a dungbomb-trapped letter to her at the Ministry," he suggested.

A devious smile appeared on Tom's face at that.

ssssssss

Aberforth grinned like a schoolboy. "So, it's official now? I have a nephew?"

His brother nodded. "Yes, Tom's mine."

Ignatius and Horace offered their congratulations on the newest edition to the Dumbledore family. Horace nudged his friend in the shoulder.

"So, they didn't ask the big question?"

Albus turned to him, his blue eyes twinkling. "They did, actually. He said yes!"

Horace gaped like a fish, before closing his mouth. A wide smile spread across his face. "That is SUCH a major step, Albus!"

"Isn't it? Of course," the other man added ruefully, "he has been avoiding me since. But he does seem to be seeking out that Moody boy more often, so at least he's not closing himself off completely. Some children his own age, and our house elf seem to be less threatening to him. I will be having a talk with him soon, to see how he is doing."

Horace nodded. "Well, everyone is here," he sighed, "and the situation does not look good."

He spread out some maps on the table. "I don't think we can avoid war anymore."

With that, the group launched into a discussion on various tactics, studied the potential support from the Wizard populations, and then could do nothing but wait for further developments.

ssssssss

"Miss Harris!" Albus exclaimed as the woman entered his office, "good to see you again. I hope nothing is amiss with the adoption procedure?" he immediately added, concerned.

"No, not with the procedure," the woman was apparently trying to hold back a grin, "I am here to lodge a complaint against your son, though."

Dumbledore's eyebrows moved upwards. "A complaint?"

"Actually, I do not really mind that much, myself," Miss Harris grinned, "it was humorous. Mrs Ellerton, who, by the way, had been given her notice after our conversation last week, was cleaning out her desk when a letter arrived for her. When she opened it…well. It was a dungbomb-trapped letter."

The whole situation raised so many questions in the Professor's mind that he did not manage to make a sound at all.

"Mrs Ellerton's behaviour was deplorable, and it was not the first time," Miss Harris frowned in disapproval, "since I was appointed Head of the Department I warned her several times. This was one incident too many. Either way, while she was clearing out her desk on her last day, a letter, apparently sent by your son and his friend Alastor, arrived for her. She opened it without checking."

A girlish giggle escaped the Department Head for a moment. "Excuse me. She…ended up reeking of manure, badly and had to be escorted from the building. Of course I am obliged to undertake action, so we tracked the wand signatures."

Albus chuckled, too, then sighed. "I will get both boys up here."

A few minutes later, two boys were squirming slightly in front of his desk. Miss Harris had a hard time keeping a straight face.

"Sending trapped dungbomb letters to Ministry officials is a very bad thing to do," Albus scolded firmly, having tightened his Occlumency shields so he would be able to remain stern, "you two are very lucky Miss Harris is willing to forego official reprimands in favour of leaving disciplinary actions to me."

Tom did not risk a glance at the woman, but Alastor did, and noticed her struggle to stay serious. He knew then they were not in very serious trouble, and gave Tom a reassuring nudge.

"Tomorrow afternoon, when you would have had an extra free period because Professor Slughorn has obligations elsewhere, I will take you to the Ministry to clean Mrs Ellerton's office," he said, giving both boys a sharp look, "until not the faintest whiff of dungbomb smell remains. What is that, Mr Moody? Yes, I know it is Wednesday tomorrow. You had better hope, then, that you will finish cleaning in time for your Chess Club meeting. Otherwise you will have to miss it."

He shook his head, catching Alastor's eye. That boy knew they weren't very upset with them, and he gave a small smile.

"If you would excuse us, then, Miss Harris, Mr Moody – I would like a word with Tom."

"Certainly, Professor," Miss Harris said cheerfully, "Come along, Alastor. You can walk me to the gates and tell me how you are doing in chocolate frog racing these days."

After they had left, Albus shook his head. "Honestly, Tom."

"She deserved it," Tom muttered sulkily.

"True," his father agreed, and he looked up in astonishment.

"That does not mean I approve of your prank," Albus reminded him, "but I agree, she was most unkind."

Inwardly, Albus did not much feel like scolding Tom excessively. The prank had been out of line, but understandable, and cleaning the reeking office the next day would be punishment enough for both boys.

Meanwhile, Tom sensed that his new father had been annoyed with the woman's behaviour as well, and it made him feel a little safer. The professor had not agreed with all those jabs at him.

"I haven't seen much of you this week," Albus continued, his voice warm now that he was done lecturing, "how have you been?"

"Good," Tom said. Feeling he should offer a little more information than just one word, he added, "Alastor and I are going to do our Defence project together. And the day after the exams, I am playing Minerva McGonagall in the semi-finals of the Chess Club."

"Ah, excellent," Dumbledore walked around his desk and put an arm around the child's shoulders, "you are a good player if you can take on Minerva! I take it your chess pieces have gotten used to you, then?"

Tom allowed himself to be steered towards the couch. "Yes, sir. They trust me now. It's fun to play with pieces that cooperate with me."

"Yes, it is. Do remember to occasionally take a break from studying, Tommy. I know you want to pass the second year tests, and I will help you, but remember I am proud of you whether you pass them or no. It would do no good if you worked so hard that you collapse from exhaustion and are unable to enjoy our holiday."

Tom looked up. "What are we going to do, sir?"

"Father," Dumbledore corrected gently, "Mr Ollivander has asked if you want to come help him for a few weeks. And we are going to spend some time with my brother Aberforth."

"Do you have to leave again, like during the Easter holidays?" Tom said with feigned disinterest.

"I will have meetings," Albus nodded, "I never did tell you why, did I? Remember I told you before about Germany, and the possibility of war?"

"Yes sir…father. You said that there was a chance there would be war, and you hinted that Wizards as well as Muggles would be involved," Tom recalled.

"Exactly," Albus said, "and now there is n longer a chance, Tom – it is practically a certainty. The question is when the war will come, not if. Unfortunately, I will have to be involved in it."

That seemed to actually distress the boy a little. "Why?"

"Very few wizards believe that the war can affect us. Only a small group knows who the wizard behind the Muggle Chancellor is. He is a Dark Wizard, Tom, one of the most dangerous. He would sacrifice Muggle, Wizard, house elf, child, adult alike in his quest for power. And…"

Albus hesitated. "I am part of a small group of Wizards dedicated to stop him."

"Is it wrong to seek power?" Tom asked.

"Not necessarily," Albus replied carefully, "It is never wrong to seek to better ourselves. It IS wrong to murder others in one's quest for power, arguing that we are better than them. You must understand, Tom, that this wizard believes himself to be superior to everyone else. He would kill you, Rowdy, Alastor, Professor Slughorn, everyone that he deems does not deserve to live. That is what we oppose. With great power comes great responsibility, Tommy, and that includes a responsibility to those not as powerful."

"Mr Ollivander said the same once," Tom remarked.

"I know. I agree with him. One day you will be a powerful wizard, too, Tom. Remember that it only requires a fair amount of magic and some wand waving to be a powerful wizard, but it requires integrity and responsibility to be a _great _wizard."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N This story is dedicated to my sister Rowdie, who has the honour of having the Dumbledore's House Elf named after her.**

"Rowdy?"

Tom peeked around the corner of his room, "Rowdy?"

It was weekend, and his father had asked him to drop by his rooms for a visit, so Tom figured he could spend Saturday there, studying for his exams. Professor Dumbledore had a whole library full of useful books for extra credit assignments, and Rowdy was always willing to make him a nice snack.

"Yes, young master?" Rowdy appeared with a slight 'pop'.

"I'd like to ask some questions for my History of Magic essay," Tom said, "the book Professor Binns gave us is stupid."

"How is books stupid?" Rowdy asked, with a slight indignity to her high voice. Years spent looking after Dumbledores had given her a healthy respect for books.

"I wanted to write about House Elves," Tom said with a frown, "but all the books say is that Elves emerged sometime in the early Middle Ages and have been serving ever since. Nothing about culture, habits, language, magic – anything."

"Book written by Wizard, right?" Rowdy sighed, "Wizards doesn't really understand."

"Is…is it forbidden to talk about your culture?" Tom asked shyly, "if it is…"

"No, no, Master Tommy," Rowdy shook her head, "not forbidden. Wizards just never asks. Rowdy is happy to be helping yous."

Tom picked up a parchment and quill, balancing ink and parchment precariously on his lap as he sat cross-legged on the bed. He patted the blankets. "Come sit," he invited.

Rowdy jumped onto the bed and sat down. "What does you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, why do you all talk like that?" Tom asked.

"Oh, that has two reasons," Rowdy said, "We is descendants of Imps, and Imps be talking like that. Grammar of our own language be vastly different. Human languages far more difficult to learn."

"Imps?" Tom asked in confusion, "you are related to Imps and Pixies?"

"Partly," Rowdy answered, "Yous see, first House Elves be crossbreeds. Part Imp, part Elf. Yous don't want to know the mechanics, and yous is far too young anyway. Lots of time later, House Elves becomes their own species. Body merges, and magic merges as well. Imp magic and Elf magic."

Tom scribbled down notes eagerly.

"What about throwbacks?" he asked hesitatingly, not wanting to upset his favourite elf.

"First there were, in the beginning, when House Elves was still new. Still sometimes a baby elf is born more elf, or more imp. Some House Elves are tall like Elf ancestors, some puny like Imp ancestors. House Elf Imp children went back to Imps, and House Elf Elf children…not went back to elves. Elves not happy with them."

"What are Elves?" Tom asked curiously.

"Oh, Elves be long gone," Rowdy sighed sadly, "long, long, long ago. Wizards and Muggles think they is fairy-tales. Maybe someday a book will come about elves, it will. Not about House Elves…no, no one writes books about House Elves," she smiled a toothy smile.

"I could write a book about House Elves," Tom said.

The elf patted his cheek. "You is a good boy, Master Tommy. Sweet boy."

Tom felt his face go warm, and he was glad when Rowdy quickly continued her tale. "Let's see. Now, Wizards think House Elves emerge in England in Middle Ages, but we has been around far longer. At first, secretly. We is always taking care of people – pulling pranks sometimes too…but first, taking food from houses, and in returns we is doing the work. Humans like, and put food out. We eats, we works. Then Humans begin telling stories. About switching human babies. And eating Wizard babies. They is becoming afraid of us."

"And did you do that? Taking human babies?" Tom asked, enraptured.

Rowdy scowled. "Of course we is not! Pixies sometimes puts small children in high trees. House Elves gets them out. Anyways, we be seeing that humans begins to be afraid. So we tries to show ourselves. Muggles get scared. They be trying to kill us. So we leaves Muggles. Sometimes help them, but always invisible. Wizards agrees to let us work. Don't think much of us, Wizards do, but they likes our help. But they is needing oaths to protect their secrets, so we gives oath. Oath becomes bond. Now bonds are very strong."

"So Wizards only think you suddenly emerged then because that's when you decided to show yourselves?" Tom asked, "and can your bonds be broken?"

"Clothes," Rowdy shivered, "clothes can break bond. But we no wants that. Bonds have merged a little with our magic, too. We likes working for good masters. In bad masters – bond eventually unmerges from magic and can be broken. But most elves still doesn't want that. Feels – naked without bond. House Elves without bond would be like you walking around Hogwarts with no clothes on."

Tom grimaced. "And culture?"

Rowdy began to explain various parts of House Elf customs to the boy, and when Dumbledore looked in on them a while later, he found an ink-covered boy, a large stack of parchments full of notes, and a tired Elf whose high squeaky voice had become decidedly hoarse.

ssssssssss

Alastor Moody stood in the small antechamber off the Great Hall where the Chess Club usually met. Today were the semi-finals. Minerva McGonagall, last year's winner, would play against his friend Tom, and Alastor suddenly realized that while TOM had gone through the exams calm and relaxed, HE was a nervous wreck on behalf of his friend.

Of course, while it would be wonderful if Tom qualified to join the third years, it would be no great disaster if it didn't work out. And no first year had ever won the Chess Club's annual tournament. The betting that was going on (outside the view of any teacher) all favoured Minerva. Alastor was the only one who stubbornly bet on Tom, not because he believed Tom would win, but because he felt obliged to support him.

After all, nothing encourages friendship and loyalty like an afternoon locked in an office full of dungbomb smell.

Although they had not been scolded further, it was obvious word of their prank had somehow leaked out. As did their detention. The president of the Chess Club even snuck them a small bottle.

"Potion. Helps with the Dungbomb smell. Professor Slughorn taught us to brew it a few years back, when there was an outbreak of dungbomb pranks," he said, "make sure to use it well and get back before the meeting. Won't have you miss Club over something like this, and next time, THINK before you prank! At least time your pranks so that they won't interfere with something important."

"Like chess?" Alastor said sceptically.

"Exactly," the fifth year wandered off, muttering about silly first-years and their ill-timed pranks.

The office had been cleaned, Miss Harris had given them a treat before Professor Dumbledore had come to pick them up again, and they had been well in time for the Chess Club meeting.

Their Defence project for Professor Merrythought had impressed Alastor's father, who had sent a few notes on possible improvements and otherwise told his son and the friend he had not yet met that they were doing an outstanding job. Now all their projects and essays had been handed in, the written exams were over and after the weekend they would get their grades.

Meanwhile, they distracted themselves with chess. Alastor placed the Chess Clubs official chess set on the table. Tom and Minerva had drawn before. Tom would start with white, and Minerva with black. He picked up the small name tags to pin to the chairs.

'Minerva McGonagall' still existed from the year before. He only had to make a 'Tom Riddle'.

With his wand in his hand Alastor suddenly stopped. Tom Riddle? He shook his head as he realized that in all their talks about fathers and being adopted, Tom had never actually told him WHO had adopted him. Nor had he given his new last name. He still signed his essays and exams as Tom Riddle. Of course, it wouldn't be legal until the actual paperwork came through – Alastor remembered that from years before – but he would have thought…

When Tom arrived at Hogwarts, he had been a very strange boy. He hardly spoke to anyone, and while he was a good student, he seemed intent on making mischief. Granted, the Polka Dot prank had been fun, but they had all been rather stunned when the Headmaster got hurt. Alastor had written home about it, and wondered what on earth could have gotten into the small first year.

The reply he got had been enlightening. His parents reminded him that not everyone is the same. Going to Hogwarts was a big change for a boy who might be Muggleborn. Perhaps Riddle just needed a friend and something fun to occupy his time. So Alastor had invited the boy to a game of chess, and discovered Tom wasn't as horrible as they all thought. Quiet, and never volunteering any information, but not a bad sort, after all.

And once they had become friends, they'd had fun. When Tom confided in him he had grown up in an orphanage, Alastor privately thought that his parents had been right – to a boy from a Muggle orphanage, Hogwarts must be very strange. And then they had a few talks about being adopted, yet Tom had never mentioned who exactly his guardian was. It had not even been on the permission note for the Club – merely a statement that Tom's guardian approved of his joining.

Shaking his head, Alastor continued setting up the room for the match. Whoever won, would play against the Chess Club's current champion, Head Boy John Shephard. The winner of THAT match would play an honorary game against the Transfiguration Professor, who was the Club's Staff Supporter. Everyone accepted the fact that the man was unbeatable, but it was still fun.

And they could always try, couldn't they?

sssssssss

"Mr Riddle," Cuthbert Binns called Tom over after lunch.

Seeing as his game with Minerva was due in less than fifteen minutes, Tom hoped the long-winded professor wouldn't take too long in saying whatever it was he wanted to say, but considering he had called him over to the staff table, it wasn't likely to be.

"I have received your essay," the History of Magic Professor continued, oblivious to the fact that the Headmaster, Potions Master and Transfigurations Professor were listening in to the conversation, "Each year I set one assignment on House Elves, and the student that receives it normally hands in the shortest essay of the class. Yours was five feet longer than required, and full of information not found in any book in the library."

"There isn't much information in the books, Professor," Tom replied.

"I know that!" Binns eyed him disapprovingly, "what I want to know is how you got your information, if not from books? Did you make it up?"

Tom smiled, the small, sly smile that told Dumbledore and Slughorn that he was being deliberately obtuse.

"No, sir, I did not make it up."

"Then where did you find it?" Binns demanded.

"I would have thought that was obvious, Sir," Tom's eyes widened in innocent surprise.

The History Professor just stared at him.

"I asked my House Elf friends," Tom added, seeing the Professor apparently required additional information, "they gave me so much information I might consider writing my own book on House Elves."

Seeing neither Headmaster or History Professor would be up to responding any time soon, and his father and Head of House had trouble containing their smirks, Tom simply nodded his goodbye to the group before heading to his Chess match.

ssssssssss

Alastor sat next to the president and vice president of their club to watch these semi-finals. John was also present to study the style of both players, since he would have to go up against one of them.

"No first year has ever won, Al," he said, "and Minerva is a very good player. Don't feel bad for your friend, he has plenty of talent to have gotten this far."

Alastor shrugged. When he first played Tom, he would have agreed, but his friend had improved dramatically over the past year.

Minerva and Tom shook hands, both a little tense.

The witch gained the upper hand immediately, forcing Tom into a defensive position. Tom retreated, making careful moves as if unsure what to do. Alastor almost grinned – that was Tom's favourite tactic, and he had fallen for it many times before figuring out that underestimating Tom was a bad idea.

Minerva, however, seemed convinced this would be a very short match. She played aggressively, forcing Tom to retreat further. However, when she overlooked an opening, Tom immediately jumped in, his pieces already in the perfect position to strike. He had accurately predicted this flaw of hers, and had anticipated upon it.

"Sneaky little snake," the Head Boy muttered, but his tone was appreciative, not derogatory.

McGonagall was dumbstruck, but she was an excellent player and determined not to let one such setback drive her off the board. She immediately began moves to counter.

The match went on and on, a true power struggle. At one point, Professor Dumbledore had wandered in and sat watching the match in intense concentration, enthralled by the metaphorical arm-wrestling that was going on.

Finally Tom fell back. His pieces began to retreat, and he lost one of his towers to his opponent, who moved her own pieces in once more.

Tom grinned. The tower had been a necessary loss – he knew McGonagall would never believe he would use the same strategy twice in one game. When the opening came this time, he was ready to strike again, and this time he struck well.

"Check, and mate," he said softly. The witch's eyes widened.

"Bloody hell!" she cursed, before noticing the Professor and blushing fiercely.

Dumbledore simply smiled. "I seem to have suffered a temporary loss of hearing," he announced cheerfully, "I did not hear a word you said, Miss McGonagall. I take it you accepted defeat?"

The girl swallowed, both in relief and disappointment. "Yes," she sighed, before offering Tom her hand. The game had taken almost two hours.

"Great game. Though I would like an unofficial rematch in the near future."

Tom shook her hand briefly. "I would like that," he agreed.

John Shephard was next to shake hands with him. "Great game, kid. I guess you know you're up against me next, right? Tuesday night."

Tom nodded, and his eyes sought those of his adopted father. The blue eyes of the Professor twinkled happily at him, and a smile told him exactly how proud Dumbledore was of his victory.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Estimates for the total casualties of WW2 vary, but most suggest that some 60 million people died in the war, including about 20 million soldiers****, 40 million civilians and an unknown number of wizards.**

'I am telling you, Albus, the boy is unnatural!" the Headmaster pursed his lips together, "he chats with house-elves, for Merlin's sake!"

"I fail to see how taking the path that would provide him with the most information for his project proves Tom is somehow unnatural," Slughorn put in his two knuts, "a Slytherin, maybe, but not unnatural. Why, many children have an amiable relationship with their family house elf, especially when the elf looks after the child on a regular basis. I myself, have very fond memories of our elf Sissy – she baked me the most delicious raisin bran cookies…"

Armando Dippet waved his hand, knowing full well that allowing Horace to start reminiscing about previous gastronomical experiences meant listening to endless recipes for the rest of the afternoon.

"I grant that the number of complaints I received have substantially lessened, and from what I understand, the boy excels in his classes…"

"Then what is your complaint, Headmaster?" Albus Dumbledore began to grow impatient. "You accused me of favouring the boy from the beginning, now I must question whether it is not you who is biased against him."

"Albus," Slughorn laid a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder, "please. Headmaster, as young Mr Dumbledore's Head of House I see no signs that the boy is somehow unnatural. In fact, over the past weeks his behaviour and his grades in the classes he was struggling with have both improved remarkably."

That was completely true. Ever since Tom started actually doing his Transfiguration homework, he had never scored less than an O. Of course, the question remained whether not refusing to do anything at all for a class should rightfully be described as 'struggling'.

Dippet caved under the combined force of two professors defending their charge, and they left leaving a frustrated but somewhat reassured Headmaster behind.

"Of course, the truth is that the boy IS unnatural," Albus muttered sadly.

"Albus!" Horace looked scandalized, "he is NOT unnatural. Disturbed. Troubled. But not unnatural."

Albus shook his head. "Of course. You are right, he is only troubled, and is doing much better. I just wish…I had always thought that when I had children, I would have a very close relationship with them. The kind I could not have with my own father since I was ten and he was arrested. I – I know have a son who is vastly different from what I imagined, and I find myself forced to adjust my dreams and wishes accordingly. It is – difficult."

"Ah," Horace understood, "you are grieving for the child you thought you would have. I suppose that is normal, Albus, but please do not let Tom see that."

"Of course not," his friend smiled, "it is an idée-fixe that I have to let go of, and that is never easy. Tom is not the easiest child to deal with, but then again, I am not the perfect father, either. I just hope that some day, Tom will not be so hesitant to share with me what he feels or thinks or even needs. I hope one day he will just walk into my office and ask for extra pocket money to take a girl to Hogsmeade, and gets home all flustered because she kissed him goodbye. That sort of thing."

sssssssssss

If Tom entertained ideas of taking young ladies to Hogsmeade trips in the future, he would have put those aside for this anyway – the all-important chess finale of the year.

Alastor sat at the front, ready to watch the game. Professor Dumbledore sat next to him. The rest of the chess club and a few supporters had gathered as well. John Shephard smiled at the younger boy.

"I've been looking forward to playing this game," he said, "no matter who wins, I'd like it if we could play again in the future – perhaps by owl post during the holidays? Did you ever play chess long-distance?"

Tom shook his head. "How does it work?"

"Easy, we both have a board and pieces that we keep in our house. Say, I start. I would have the board ready, all pieces, and send you a note stating my move. You make that move with the pieces in your board, then make your counter move and send me a note. I move that piece on my board and send you a note with my next move and so on."

"That sounds very time-consuming," Tom commented.

"True, but it is fun to do if you have no one to play against during the holidays. If you have several boards you can even play more than one person that way."

The game began. John Shephard was an extremely capable player who had learned a lot from observing previous games – Tom had no chance to lure him into a trap. It was quite clear from the start that John would win, though Tom played very well, even better than he had against Minerva, and managed to get himself out of a few tight spots masterfully. It took two hours before John made his last move.

"Check, and mate," he said gently. "Sorry, Tom."

The look of pure fury the boy gave him and the board sent gasps through the spectators near enough to notice. Dumbledore half rose from his chair, ready to catch Tom should he erupt, but soon enough the child's face became blank.

"I see. Congratulations," the boy managed before muttering an excuse about the bathroom. Dumbledore left as well – the game had gone on longer than anticipated and he was already late for the brief end-of-term staff meeting.

"I never knew Tom was such a sore loser," Alastor commented to John, who was packing up the board.

"Oh, don't blame him, Al," the older student said with a smile, "it isn't easy to lose in front of your guardian, even though no one expected him to win."

"His guardian?" Alastor said in confusion. No one had told him Tom's guardian would be here today – he hadn't noticed a strange face in the crowd, but then again, he had been so focussed on the game he might not have.

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore. Don't tell me you did not recognize his handwriting on the permission note, or his signature."

"I never looked, I just gave it to you," Alastor admitted with a frown.

Tom re-entered the now much emptier room, obviously much calmer.

"Sorry," he said to John, "and congratulations again. I knew I could not win, but it was unexpected when you did finish me off anyway."

"That's alright. And I think you still made a very good impression on your guardian," John said kindly.

"Professor Dumbledore is your father?" Alastor demanded.

Tom gave him a nod. "He…he adopted me."

"And you never told me? You told me about your guardian and your adoption and you never saw fit to mention that it's our teacher?" Alastor nearly shouted.

John saw the younger boy's face completely close off before he turned and ran from the room.

"Some way to support a friend, Al," he told the irate Moody, "wouldn't _you_ be a bit embarrassed to have a teacher for a father?"

Alastor flushed. "I…I guess. I just…thought he trusted me more. I never was that secretive about my Dad adopting me."

"You still had a wonderful Mum," John reminded him, "You said Tom grew up in an orphanage. He probably needs more time to get used to the idea than you did. I am sorry I brought it up, he would probably have told you himself soon enough."

Alastor's face brightened a little. "Do you think so?"

"Of course. You're his best friend, aren't you?"

ssssssssss

The term had ended, and the students were busy packing. The train would leave the next morning and most could not wait to return to their families. Albus stretched lazily – the summer was always a nice quiet time for him. Of course he revised his lesson plans for the next year somewhat, but the curriculum was pretty much set by now. Though the OWL students could do with a little more thorough grounding in flesh-to-stone transfiguration; the OWLs had shown most had trouble with the questions dealing with that particular subject. He jotted down a few notes to add another lecture on it and assign an essay. Then the sixth years would only need to review it, opening up a little time there for a little more interspecies transfigurations. Yes, that would all work out beautifully.

He had ordered Tom to bring his trunk down to his rooms. Even though they would spend part of the holidays in Hogsmead, Tom had to learn to consider his bedroom in Dumbledore's quarters as home. He frowned. That brief instant of fury the boy had shown after losing the chess match concerned him. Tom had such a long way to go yet, and he could not be allowed to unleash his anger on other students. He would keep an even closer eye on the boy.

When Tom entered a little later, dragging his trunk, Rowdy immediately appeared to take it to his room, excited that she would have the young master home to pamper.

That left Tom standing in the office, with nothing to do suddenly. He did not look at his father, choosing to admire the floor and the bookcases instead, behaviour that reminded Dumbledore very much of the earliest months of their acquaintance. They had suffered a setback, Albus realized, and he did not even know why.

"Tommy," he breathed softly, "I am happy to have you home."

Merope mewled, sniffed around the office, seemingly wanting to know who had dared to trespass in the weeks she had been away from what she now considered part of her territory, and finally settled for a nap in the chair by the fireplace.

"Yes, sir," Tom eyed his cat, "may I be excused, sir?"

"No," Albus said, desperately, stepping around his desk and carefully approaching the boy, "Tommy, what is wrong? I am not 'sir', remember?"

Tom took a step back. "I am perfectly fine, sir."

"Tommy," Albus said sternly, "you are not fine. What happened?"

"Nothing," Tom spat out before rushing to his room and slamming the door shut.

Albus sighed and rubbed his forehead. What a wonderful start of the holidays.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: July 6****th****: the last remaining Jewish enterprises are closed by the Nazis. Two weeks later, Mahatma Ghandi writes a letter, addressing Hitler as 'my friend' to plead with him to prevent all possible war.**

The first two weeks of the holidays were beyond frustrating for Albus Dumbledore. Tom no longer reacted to him, rather avoided him. The boy worked with Ollivander, and after having been introduced to his new uncle, Aberforth, also spent some time running errands for the Hogs Head.

Albus had on several occasions attempted to speak to the boy, but Tom seemed almost frightened of him. He did not have as much time to devote to his son as he would have liked either – the war had started in earnest, even if half the world was still in denial. Though the Muggle world was still relatively quiet, in the Wizard communities on the mainland followers of Gellert had executed some seemingly random attacks. A few dozen people had already died as a result, and it put the Wizarding governments of the rest of Europe on alert.

Personally, Albus believed Grindelwald had not ordered these attacks. Apparently he chose not to exercise very tight control over his followers of yet. Though he admitted to being prejudiced, Albus knew Gellert well enough to understand that he was too intelligent for just random attacks. He would tolerate his followers' violence as something they needed to get out of their system, but only as long as it did not interfere with his carefully laid plans. After all, Albus thought bitterly, and with a hint of regret, those plans had been decades in the making. Now that he was in the early phases of carrying them out, Gellert would not allow anything to interrupt them.

After a short meeting about this problem, Albus decided to stay behind at the Hogs Head to talk to his brother. Twirling his cup of tea around, he sighed.

"Do you think I am an incompetent parent, Abe?"

The bartender shrugged, waving his wand to clean up the dirty glasses from the meeting. "You certainly were an incompetent caregiver to Ariana, but you seem to have learned a thing or two since then."

Aberforth could not keep the trace of bitterness from his voice. The death of their sister was still a very sore point between them.

"I was not even a caregiver to Ariana," Albus muttered in deep sorrow, "what care did I give her? The longer I look after Tom, the more clear it becomes to me just how horribly I failed her – and that I took not just her life from her, but her happiness, too. Since Tom came along, I am unsure which is the more unforgivable – robbing someone of their lives, or their happiness."

He looked up to his brother with a sad smile, face completely unguarded for once. "It doesn't matter, does it, since I have done both. I deserve a lot more for that than a broken nose. Since I became a parent, I began to think perhaps Tom was brought on my path as a chance to somehow atone, as well, but I only seem to fail him. He's not talking to me again."

Pushing his tea away, he added softly, "Like you did not speak to me for years after Ariana's death."

"Entirely different, that," Aberforth growled, a bit confused to hear his brother own up to his mistakes and not ready to address Albus's confessions just yet.

"The by is fretting over something, that's for sure, but it might not be over anything you did. You know, should know by now, what twelve year old boys are like. Think they know everything, those lads do, thinking they don't need adults. And this one especially seems to think he must work out his own problems. He needs a little push to talk to you, is all."

Albus felt oddly lighter at his brother's words. Aberforth was not one to lie, never had been. That could be very painful, but today it was reassuring.

"Where is the boy? I have seen neither hide nor hair of him since yesterday."

"I sent him up to the castle to run an errant, dropping off some things at Horace's," Abe replied, "Told him to be back by noon or I'd come looking for him.…"

He frowned and checked the old grandfather clock in the corner. Battered and dusty, it still ran beautifully. "He's a few minutes late already."

ssssssssssssss

It felt strange, Tom mused, to walk the now empty halls of Hogwarts. He shifted the parcel in his arms a little as he descended towards the rooms of his Head of House. He bit his lip as he remembered the last chess game, and the things Alastor had said. He had tried very hard not to think about any of it, not the game, not Alastor, not Professor Dumbledore, but being at Hogwarts brought it all back.

With a shock he realized he almost walked past Professor Slughorn's rooms, and shaking his head at himself he nodded. Soon, the Potions Master opened.

"Ah, Tom!" he greeted the boy jovially, "come to bring my order, right? Come in, lad, come in."

Tom hesitatingly entered. The rooms were comfortable; the Professor took the parcel from him and took the parchment containing the bill.

"I really ought to stop indulging myself in this," he muttered, "a bloody shame, what they ask for good firewhiskey these days."

Handing Tom a money bag with the payment, he also pressed a few sickles into the child's hand.

"Here, for the trouble of delivering it."

Tom looked up. "Uncle Aberforth is also paying me…"

"Ah, ah, but I don't need to know that, do I, lad? Besides, it's summer. I know Albus isn't known for being a miser, but a young man can always find a use for a few extra coins, eh?"

"I…They are nice to me," Tom suddenly confessed. He knew he shouldn't, that adults could not be trusted, but his Head of House had been decent to him and it was so lonely, out in the village.

"Been having a good time?" Horace probed.

"Not really," Tom muttered, "I…Professor Dumbledore is ashamed of me, Alastor is angry with me and Uncle Aberforth and Mr Ollivander think I am a two- year old. I have to be back by noon or Uncle Aberforth is coming to get me, he said. And I've been running around London since I was five."

Horace blinked at the unusually long rant. Albus ashamed? Alastor angry? What HAD been brooding in that child's mind?

"I have to go, or I will be late!" Tom exclaimed, "sorry, Sir! I will see you next week, possibly."

Horace just had time to smile and nod before the door closed behind Tom. From his window, he could see the boy sprint across the lawn in the direction of the Hogsmeade road. Shaking his head, he made a mental note to discuss some of this short talk with Albus next time he saw him.

ssssssssss

Tom had to stop a little down the road to the town to catch his breath. He panted, his hands on his knees, before continuing at a slightly more sedate pace. Three pops alerted him to an incoming Apparition, not an unusual occurrence in this town, so he paid no mind until a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Yes…yes, this is the one," one of the new arrivals, a man with dark hair, olive skin and a strange accent commented, "this is the boy."

"Kill him quickly," a woman with a matching complexion ordered.

Tom's eyes widened. "Wait! I…"

"Look, you can make this easy or hard," the man holding him said, "you are in the way. Hence you must be eliminated. It is only logical."

Though Tom did not have access to his wand, that did not mean he was defenceless. Years spent in the orphanage and roaming the streets taught him a trick or two. Though sneaking and stealth had been more his forte, it had not meant he never had occasion to fight!

So he did the one thing he could against a grown opponent – he kicked the man's shin, hard, and when released, ran for it in the direction of the village.

The three followed, one voice yelling curses at him. A hex flew by and his breathing hitched. They would surely get him now and kill him.

Then, at the entrance to the village, two figures suddenly appeared besides him.

ssssssssss

"He is normally not late," Albus said, worried, "he may resent my rules, but he does follow them."

"Let's head down to the Hogwarts road to see if he is on his way," Aberforth suggested, "he might simply be running a little late. Horace might have offered him a butterbeer or a treat and he forgot the time. He IS a twelve year old boy after all. Teens are not known for being punctual."

"Yes," Albus agreed, "I am not inclined to be harsh with him for that, especially since it is the first time, but waiting for him will show that we take it seriously if he is late."

They walked towards the edge of the village together, leisurely, when shouts in the distance got their attention. A small form they recognized as Tommy sped towards them, chased by three grown wizards, who occasionally fired spells at the running boy.

"Merlin!" Albus's eyes widened. Fear like he had never felt before settled in his stomach, along with something else – a mad desire to protect. He rushed right into the fray, intent on getting to the child as soon as he could. Aberforth followed immediately after sending away a silvery goat towards the castle, and had caught up by the time they arrived.

"Father! Father! Help me!" The young voice sounded desperate, terrified, and relieved all at once.

Albus immediately grabbed Tom and drew the boy behind him, protecting him with his own body while using the other hand to cast a quick barrage of spells at Tom's attackers. His brother, with both hands free, darted to and fro, avoiding the hexes and curses aimed at him and quickly took down one of the men and the woman.

"Dumbledore," the last remaining man snarled, his lip curled before he Disapparated with a crack.

Aberforth approached the two would-be kidnappers he had taken down and Stunned them for good measure before searching them.

His older brother turned to Tom, his hands framing the child's face and frantic worry written all over his features.

"Are you alright, son? Did they hurt you? Are you hurting?"

Tom shook his head, nodded, shook his head again, his face ashen.

"Oh, Merlin," Albus pulled him close with a groan, holding the child tightly against his chest, "oh Merlin. I…Tommy…"

Sounds of Apparition sounded from several points, but this time they brought no danger. Horace arrived, along with the young Prewett. A few Aurors took the still motionless criminals into custody while Aberforth had a quick conversation with Horace.

"Albus?" he finally asked after a while, lowering his voice to a whisper, "They were Grindelwald's. The Aurors want to question Tom and us."

"Tell them Tom will come give his statement when he is good and ready," Albus snarled, his protective streak rising with each tremor that shook the body in his arms, "I am taking my son home now. I will send them a message."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Forgive me, Abe. Without your help…but I really need to get Tommy home. Give him some time to recover."

"I know," Aberforth gently rested a hand on the dark head still pressed into Albus's robes, "I will stall them for a bit."

ssssssssss

A quick Apparition later, Dumbledore found himself in the living room of their Hogsmeade home, with a twelve year old still clinging to him.

"You are safe, Tommy, I will not let anything happen to you," the Transfigurations Professor whispered, tightening his hold on the boy all the same.

A pale face finally emerged from his robes. "I was a coward," Tom said, full of self-loathing.

"A coward?" Albus sat them both down on the sofa, his arm around the still dazed child, "what happened, Tommy?"

Slowly, haltingly, Tom related the events since he left the castle.

"That was very brave of you," Albus pulled the boy into his arms again, "you are most definitely not a coward, my boy! My poor child."

"Aren't you angry with me, then?" Tom asked, hesitatingly.

"Of course not! It was not your fault they attacked you."

"But…I disappointed you," Tom lowered his head. He hated feeling like this, like a child that wanted his father to like him. But deep down he knew that he WAS a child that wanted his father to like him.

"Disappointed me?" Albus asked in confusion, "I am not disappointed in you. Why do you think that?"

"The…the chess match," Tom admitted, "I lost, and I got angry. And now I was late…"

"Oh, Tom," Albus ran a hand over his face. Here, finally, were his answers, and he cursed himself for letting it come to this, this attack, before addressing those issues. If anything had gone wrong, if he had lost Tom, the boy would have died thinking he was a disappointment.

He cupped the boys chin and forced him to look up.

"I am not, most definitely not, disappointed in you. You will never disappoint me. I may occasionally be disappointed in your behaviour, but never in you. As for that chess match, I am very proud that you lasted so long against the school champion, but even more proud that you got angry but managed to contain it. I should have told you that directly."

"A- Alastor is angry because I did not tell him you adopted me," Tom leaned against his father, aware he was doing it but too exhausted to care, "and…and I thought you hated me, and Uncle Aberforth and you treat me like a toddler, like I can't do anything right, and…and…"

Tom shuddered and fell silent. Albus considered his response.

"Tommy," he breathed gently, "I do not hate you. I _love_ you. You are my son, and I am often strict with you, I know, but that is only because I want to keep you safe and allow you to grow up happy."

That most of the time he sought to keep the boy safe from himself went unsaid.

"Alastor will come around, I think. He may have been shocked, and it is unfortunate he found out so close before the holiday, when he and you had no chance to talk it over."

"I do agree with you that you are not a toddler, and you have obeyed my rules very well, even if you disliked them. So I know now I can trust you with more freedom. Though today, I am very glad we did set those rules."

Tom giggled suddenly. "Me too," the giggles increased until finally, they gave way to sobs.

ssssssssss

Tom was on the couch, asleep, with Albus close by, when Aberforth and Horace returned.

"No need to bring the boy in," Aberforth said tiredly, "we questioned them. It seems they are Grindelwalds men. Apparently Tom is a threat to him – something that will stand in his way when trying to woe you again. Gellert himself is not yet inclined to take action, but apparently, these three thought he would be pleased if they got rid of Tommy for him. I do not think, personally, that Grindelwald will be all that pleased with their actions."

His brother had moved over to the sleeping child on the couch, shocked to learn the danger the boy might be in.

"Gellert knows that killing the boy now would only antagonize me. It is not his way. He would attempt to alienate Tom from me," Albus agreed, "but if more of his rogue followers come after Tommy…"

"We are going to keep a close eye on him, all of Hogsmeade," Aberforth stared at the child too, worry also evident on his face, "we don't want to lock him away somewhere safe, but the people here can be trusted. We are forming patrols."

Then, a small smile appeared on his face.

"Auror Moody assisted us today. Young Alastor had accompanied his father to work today. When he learned what happened, he insisted on coming with us. Moody is waiting with him in the bar, hoping that when Tom wakes up, he will want to see them."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N 1876: Hitler's father Alois Schicklgruber changes his last name to that of his biological father – Hitler. Until then, he had gone by the last name of his mother. Hitler would later write that was the one thing he was grateful for when thinking of the father he never got along with – after all, 'Heil Hitler' sounded far better than 'Heil Schicklgruber'.**

"So, this German Chancellor, what can you tell me about him? The Muggle?"

Albus asked the question idly, trying to make conversation. Tom was still asleep, and he was not inclined to wake the boy. Mr Moody, both younger and older, were being entertained in the bar with butterbeers and snacks.

"Adolf Hitler. From what we've been able to find out, he most definitely is a Muggle – no trace of magic in his ancestry. He is ambitious and arrogant. School mates say he is intelligent, but lazy."

The younger Dumbledoer snorted. "Ambitious and lazy? A strange combination."

Horace shrugged. "Has happened before. We know Grindelwald is behind this, and his ambitions are more important than whatever this Hitler wants, yet we cannot dismiss him. Muggle or no, he can inflict quite a bit of damage that will harm our world as well. Especially since, with Grindelwald on his side, he is aware of its existence."

sssssssssssss

Tom slowly opened his eyes. His head felt a little foggy, but he did recognize the room. His father sat nearby, clearly watching over him.

As the older man had not noticed yet that he had woken, Tom took the time to study him. It had been such a relief to see the two men, just when he thought he was going to die. His father had protected him. Was still protecting him, in fact.

No one ever had.

And then he had cried in his arms like some weak, snot-nosed brat. He could not be weak! He would be taken advantage of if he acted weak, and even though he was reasonably sure by now his father would not, the man could not want a lily-livered snivelling little boy for a son.

The doubt and self-loathing clouded his eyes until a hand on his forehead startled him.

"Such dark thoughts, child," his father sighed, "do not withdraw from me now, Tom, please."

"I never wanted friends. I never needed friends!" Tom hissed, "I never needed anyone."

"And now you want me, and Alastor, and you need us," Dumbledore said calmly.

"NO!" Tom's eyes nearly glowed red, "I will not be weak."

"It is not weakness to need others, Tom," Albus took the boy's chin in his hand, "Wanting to go through this life alone, when sharing it with others takes so much of the difficulty away, is neither brave nor strong. It is foolish, and you, my boy, are anything but foolish."

The shaking body under his hands slowly calmed. "Alastor is waiting for you downstairs, with his father."

"A-Al's here?" Tom's eyes widened, "but I thought he'd never speak to me again."

"Apparently Alastor thought the same of you," Albus smiled, "but before we go down, I want to give you something."

He went to the desk, unlocked a drawer and took out Toms wand.

"They might come after you again, and I will not have you defenceless. You have proven that I can trust you to only use this in emergencies," he handed the device to the stunned boy.

Tom held it. His wand. He had not realized how much he had missed it until he held it again.

"They might come after me again?" suddenly he was only a vulnerable child that had gone through a terrible ordeal and just learned he might face others.

"I think they will not try again soon – and all of Hogsmeade will be keeping an eye out. I cannot deny, Tom, that I am now heavily involved in this upcoming war, and that may bring danger to you, too, as you have seen today." Albus managed to resist the urge to pull the boy close and never let him go.

"Today, I believe, was a miscalculation on the part of some rogue followers…something their leader will not appreciate. We cannot be entirely sure, however, so keep your wand on you. And remember, fight only when necessary! Always come find me, your uncle or Professor Slughorn. Bravery is good, recklessness is something else entirely and I would not appreciate it. Do you understand?"

Tom nodded, a little intimidated by his fathers solemn voice.

"Good." A hand ruffled his hair, "You have earned a little more freedom, Tom, as I promised - you may go where you wish in Hogsmead. Stay within the town, however, and tell me or Uncle Aberforth if you are going up to Hogwarts."

"Yes, Sir," Tom shuddered a little, still, when he thought of the attack, but he had come away unharmed. The memory was already fading, and that was the reason he thought that maybe it had not been so bad if this enhanced freedom was the result.

"Will you tell me about the war, Sir?" he asked. The Professor had promised to do so before, but somehow something else always came up, "I thought there isn't going to be a war?"

Albus sighed. "If only that were true. The question is not if there will be a war, Tommy, the question is when. The Muggle war is only part of it. The real power behind this war is a Dark wizard named Grindelwald."

"But why must you be involved?" Tom questioned, wondering why the thought of the Professor fighting a war bothered him.

"I…" Albus sighed deeply. "I was friends with Grindelwald once. He will try to sway me to his cause, and if he cannot, he will try to eliminate me. He will try to remove anything in his path, as well. He is very powerful, and there are not many who are able to stop him. I know him best; that is why I have to be involved."

He took the child's shoulders. "I swear I will do my utmost to keep you safe, Tom."

Tom looked away.

ssssssssss

Alastor was glad his father agreed to take him that day. His fight with Tom didn't sit well with him. At first he had been excited to be home again, see his mother and the little ones, but the novelty had worn off quickly. Then he had remembered his friend and their fight. He had moped around the house for days, snapping at his younger siblings until his father had taken him for a long walk.

"I don't understand Tom sometimes," he complained, "he can be very scary. I thought he was my friend, but at the match he looked ready to kill John, and he never told me that Professor Dumbledore of all people adopted him. I mean, I know he's a teacher and all but that can't be the only reason he never told me. Doesn't he trust me, Dad?"

Auror Moody kept quiet for a while as they walked on. He had sent out discreet inquiries after his son wrote home about the strange boy who seemed to be in perpetual trouble. Horace Slughorn, a friend of his and Head of Slytherin, returned the questions he asked over a bottle of butterbeer in a pub with a little information about Tom's background – raised in an orphanage, allowed and expected to roam around a lot from an early age, to provide for himself. No close ties to anyone until the Transfigurations Professor came to bring him his Hogwarts letter and took an interest in the wellbeing of this child.

Moody was an Auror. He had seen many from such backgrounds, wizards, squibs and muggle alike, gone astray. He and his wife had long talks on whether they should forbid their son to build a friendship with Tom Riddle, but in the end decided that if there was to be any chance to change the troublesome child, he would need friends. Friends like their Alastor – headstrong, loyal, a bit hot-tempered but mostly kind. And it would do Alastor some good to see that others were not as fortunate as himself. That not in every life transitions went as smoothly as had been the case for him.

"Children like Tom often cannot trust, Al, even if they want to," he told his son on that walk, "because there was never anyone they could trust. Trust is like a muscle – if you don't have the opportunity to practice, it will grow weak because of lack of use. You can't expect Tom to suddenly trust you, just like you can't expect your little brother to suddenly not only start walking, but do the ropes course at our training grounds at work as well. You must learn to be content with what he can give, and help him train to get better."

It had taken a few more days, but then Alastor was ready to reconcile with his friend, and apologise for his bad behaviour. That day he had gone to work with his father, who promised to take him to see his friend after his shift ended.

It was at that moment that the news of the attack came in, and Alastor felt faint at the thought anything might have happened to his friend. His whole jealousy over Tom not sharing who his guardian was suddenly seemed petty. His father had talked to Professor Slughorn and the bartender from the Hogs Head, and then they found themselves sitting in the bar, with a butterbeer, and invited to wait for Tom.

It took the longest time, but eventually Alastor looked up to see Tom enter with Professor Dumbledore. His guardian. No, his father now. It still was going to take some getting used to.

The boys stared at each other, Toms gaze almost blank. Alastor fidgeted a little.

"Hi," he said eventually.

Tom did not reply, only continued to look at him.

"I…oh, bloody…" a quick look from his father quenched the curse, "I was an arse to act like that, and I'm sorry," he blurted out, "it shouldn't have mattered who adopted you…well, I mean, it should, but…and I came to tell you I'm sorry, even before we heard about the attack, I promise!"

Albus hid a smile at the bluntness of the apology. Tom seemed uneasy – it was clear he had little experience with people apologising to him.

"Are you alright?" Alastor asked finally, anxious about the lack of reaction, "did those wizards hurt you?"

Tom shook his head. "Their curses didn't hit me."

"They _cursed_ you?" Alastor gaped, "how did you get away?"

"I kicked the one holding me and ran," Tom admitted, "didn't have my wand."

"Really? You kicked a grown wizard?" Alastors admiration was obvious, and Tom slowly relaxed.

"Yeah…he wasn't expecting it, I think…"

Soon, Tom was giving a blow-by-blow account of the attack with the two adults watching them.

"You did great," Alastor finally said when he had drawn every bit of information he could from Tom.

"I really am sorry for being mean, you know," he said, "I just…got scared, I think…I mean, you looked so angry after that last match."

Tom stared at the wall, and Albus came to stand behind him in silent support. He could sense the battle going on in the boy's mind, but finally it seemed the child won from the anger that threatened to take hold.

"I really wanted to win," Tom shrugged, eyeing the strange man he understood was Alastors father warily.

"Of course. You don't start a game to lose," the man said with a smile, "I hear you're quite the player, Tom. Now," he caught Dumbledore's eye, "why don't you two boys go over to Honeydukes to spend some of that pocket money that's been burning in your pocket since the start of the holidays, Al."

Tom hesitated. He would never admit it, but going out into the street scared him right now. He wasn't sure if he would ever dare to walk the path to Hogwarts again. Then again – he did have his wand now, and Alastor would be with him…

His father pulled him aside, pressed a few Sickles into his hand and briefly touched his cheek.

"We will be able to watch the street from here," Albus said so quietly that only Tom heard, "Aurors are still patrolling, too."

Tom nodded. Despite his fear, he felt a lot better suddenly – his father was not disappointed in him and Alastor came to see him. The thought that the other boy had bothered enough to apologise made him feel good, and with a jolt Tom realized that this might mean Alastor was his friend.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N September 1****st**** through 10****th**** various countries declare war on Germany or neutrality following the invasion of Poland. Many European nations and the USA declare neutrality. France, Britain, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Nepal declare war.**

The end of summer had come, and Tom found himself looking forward to returning to Hogwarts.

Not that he had reason to complain about his stay at Hogsmead – no other attacks had followed and while everyone was keeping an eye out for him, no one had done so in a manner that made him feel like a small child. He had played two long distance chess games with John Shephard and even one with Minerva McGonagall, Alastor had come by regularly and his father had kept his promise of allowing him more freedom if he stuck to the rules. Uncle Aberforth and Mr Ollivander had bought him a whole stack of books he'd wanted as a reward for his work that summer.

Currently, he and his father were eating breakfast together. The Hogwarts Express was arriving in the afternoon, and his father had to be ready to receive the students. As Professor Slughorn was caught up in a delicate potion for the infirmary, Professor Kettleburn would have the job of picking up the first years, and getting them across the lake. Worried whispers among staff members made Tom grin – everyone knew Professor Kettleburn always got into trouble somehow. In fact, according to John Shephard, in the five years he'd attended Hogwarts Professor Kettleburn had been off probation about two months total. The older students had even started taking bets on how long it would take for Professor Kettleburn to get back on probation. His father was clearly labouring under the assumption that the first years would all arrive alive and well, but Headmaster Dippet seemed less certain.

Twinkling blue eyes drew Tom from his musings, and he looked up at his father, soon to be his Professor again.

"Now that you have inhaled your food…" his father smiled at him.

Tom fought off a blush. It was true, he was eating a lot these days. It seemed he was always hungry.

"No need to be embarrassed, child. You need your food. You are a growing boy."

That was certainly true. Over summer, he had shot up like a weed, standing almost a full head higher than when he first came to Hogwarts. Despite the large amounts of food he packed away every day, he remained thin and gangly. Undoubtedly the physical exercise in the form of deliveries and lifting crates of butterbeer had something to do with that as well. When Professor Dumbledore had taken him to get his robes for this year, the talking measuring tape had complained that he was at that 'all arms and legs' phase and how difficult it was to create decent robes.

"Have you decided what after-school activities you wish to pursue this year?" Professor Dumbledore asked with feigned disinterest. He hoped Tom would be a little more sociable this year – and less mischief would be a welcome change, as well.

"The chess club," Tom shrugged, "Minerva McGonagall mentioned that they'd tried to get a drama club again, but Professor Dippet refused permission for some reason."

Albus laughed. "Professor Dippet is still remembering the last time we had such a thing, Tommy. Suffices to say it went horribly wrong and Professor Kettleburn went back on probation again."

"If Professor Kettleburn is on probation so often, then why is he still teaching?" Tom took another bite of bacon.

"Well, for one, Hogwarts has a tradition of keeping on our Professors. It is considered a sign of failure on the part of the school to have to let a Professor go. For another, there are preciously few people who desire a job like this and are capable. Professor Kettleburn may have some er….difficulties, but he is the only one who can handle any Magical creature. I know he has been looking for an apprentice among the student body for some time now, someone who shares his love for all creatures great and small, but so far has been unsuccessful. Whereas all other Professors have at least one protégé of a sort."

"Like you and Minerva?" Tom asked.

"In a manner of speaking. If she continues to work this hard, I am convinced she will easily obtain a Mastery in Transfiguration. I did not know you were interested in theatre, Tom."

"It sounded like fun," Tom frowned, "I think Minerva is still planning something, though. I think she is writing to a Professor Beery at Wizard Academy of Dramatic Arts about a summer program. I don't think she easily accepts no for an answer when she really wants something."

He hesitated. He would not need to ask permission for any summer courses – next summer was far away and it was very unlikely even a determined witch like Minerva McGonagall would be able to arrange something of that scale. What would follow now, however, would include a request, Albus felt certain, and requests were not something Tom comfortably made.

"That really small student, you know, the one in sixth…no, seventh year now? Flitwick?"

"Filius Flitwick, ah, yes. Already halfway down the work for his Charms Mastery, even before the NEWTs."

"Yes, that one. He is planning, he says, to start up a Dueling Club. Duel competition, a little Defence against the Dark Arts on the side."

"That sounds very interesting. I do believe the young man plans to pursue a Defence Mastery as well – it would be a logical choice to start such a club, to get enough practice while still in school."

"It is…it is open to third years and above," Tom muttered, "I am…if I…"

Dumbledore coughed. "Well," he said, putting down his napkin, "I was saving this for after breakfast, but seeing it has become a matter of some urgency…"

He pulled a parchment from his robes. "You have been placed in third year, Tommy. Congratulations, son. I am so very proud of you."

Tom took the parchment and studied it. "I passed them all, even transfiguration! I thought I would be…"

"Behind on that because you missed so many lessons?" his father finished for him, "you kept up with the homework. This is the first time in two hundred years that we have allowed a student to move up to another year altogether, Tom. Well done indeed."

"Does…May I join the Dueling Club, then?" Tom blurted out, his eyes still on the paper.

"Certainly. And Tom…" he caught his sons hand in his own, "this year, too, my office is always, always open to you."

Tom looked away. "You have a war to prepare."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, "I do. And I cannot promise I will not have to leave again at some point this year. I shall try my best to avoid being gone for more than a few days; however, I cannot promise it may not occur. This time, though, I shall make certain to tell you, and to make arrangements for you to contact me. I foresee at this moment I shall be at Hogwarts most of the year, and when I am there, I am never, never too busy for my own son."

sssssssss

Aberforth had offered to take Tom to Hogsmeade station so he could ride the carriages to Hogwarts with his classmates and arrive as a regular student instead of awaiting them in the Great Hall, for which Tom was extremely grateful.

He quickly met up with Alastor, who thumped him on the back and congratulated him when Tom told him he would be joining the Third Years.

"Look," Alastor said as he pointed at where Professor Kettleburn was collecting the new First Years. All of them seemed to hover between nervousness and excitement, though a few of the bolder ones looked around with interest at the older students. Probably future Gryffindors, Tom mentally noted.

"Aren't they tiny?" his friend asked a little pompously.

Tom did not suppose either Alastor or himself had been that much bigger upon entering Hogwarts, but his friend was apparently feeling important as a Third Year. John Shephard gave them a nod as he walked passed, and Minerva McGonagall stopped briefly, accompanied by some rather giggly girls, to ask for that rematch he had promised her.

The carriages quickly brought them to the school, and Tom hoped the Sorting wouldn't take too long. He was eager for the feast. Headmaster Dippet gave him a slightly disapproving glance, as he always did after the cursed knife incident, but otherwise nothing remarkable happened until his father entered with the new students, all of which had made it safely across the lake. Professor Kettleburn took his seat, grinning at Professor Slughorn and receiving the exact same disapproving glance from the Headmaster as Tom always did.

The Sorting Hat seemed to have sensed Toms hopes for a quick wrap-up and early dinner, because most students were Sorted quickly and without fuss. Food appeared and Tom filled his plate with a slightly more moderate amount of food than he would have were he still in Hogsmeade with his father and uncle, and started to eat at a sedate pace.

"Hey Riddle!" a Prefect sitting near him called, "Heard you passed the tests. Third year now, right?"

"Yes," Tom simply confirmed.

"Well done," the older boy stated, "Professor Slughorn said you need to pick your electives."

Tom nodded. "I will take them all."

"All?" the other boy looked doubtful, and around them people stopped eating to listen, "I don't think that is even possible. Besides, what do you want with Divination?"

"To be able to look into the future could be a very powerful thing," Tom replied carefully.

"Well, yes, if it were actually possible to do so," the Prefect sounded a little surprised, "but any fool can understand the future cannot be found in tealeaves, or the insides of animals, or the breadcrumbs you accidentally drop on your plate. Even real prophecies are few and far between, and most are incredibly vague. If there were a good solid way of predicting the future, then you would have a point, although I doubt it would be much good – by knowing the future you might accidentally change it. Or it could end up self-fulfilling prophecy."

This spun an excited debate at their table about the future, the possibility of travelling back in time, time paradoxes and parallel universes that eventually drew the attention of the Ravenclaw table next to them. Tom mingled only a little in the conversation that by the end of the feast had even drawn the Arithmancy Professor from the Head Table; giving his opinion guardedly only when asked directly, but he did decide that their Prefect probably was correct – reading tealeaves did seem an awful waste of time.

Since it was fairly early when the first students and staff started to leave, he dropped by his father's office after dinner, to find his Head of House there as well. The Professors looked surprised, but pleased to see him and immediately directed him to a chair.

"I just wanted to ask about Divination," Tom said, uncomfortably, "I wanted to take all electives, but after the discussion tonight…I think I might find better things to do than reading tealeaves."

His father nodded. "There are very few real Seers, and they consider it both a blessing and a curse. The things you learn in Divination are simply parlour tricks – useful if you ever accidentally perform magic in front of a Muggle, but they do not really pertain to predicting the future with any degree of accuracy. Common sense and information will get you much further in estimating which events are likely to occur…that is what we are using now in our preparations – until a very reliable Seer comes along, and even after that event, we trust in those."

Slughorn snorted. "Its all rubbish, Tom. Sure, there have been some Seers, but the real ones'd be the first to admit the future is far from predictable, and they only see some possibilities – and not even the whole picture, most of the time. Nay, lad, I'd say you'll find Arithmancy or Ancient Runes a far better challenge."

"What do you want to do, Tommy?" his father asked gently.

Tom looked at his hands. "I think I want to take Arithmancy. I already studied some Runes last year – I think I will study it on my own and see if I can do the OWL independently. I want to take Care of Magical Creatures too."

"And you have your chess club, and the duelling club," his father added, "Not to mention that this year will be harder on you than last year was, having jumped a class. I think it only wise if you free up some time in your schedule. Focus on your talents and the classes that interest you."

Dumbledore was pleased, very pleased. Tom had come to him for advice, which was very promising. He also wanted to take Care of Magical Creatures; besides nerves of steel, students also had to have a fondness for all creatures great and small, or they could never keep up in that class. Tom definitely was fond of Merope – perhaps he could extend that fondness to other creatures, and eventually humans, as well. He had already made great strides in that area, compared to the hostile, distant boy that entered Hogwarts a year ago.

The Floo flared at that precise moment. The strong, but tense voice of Ignatius Prewett came through the flames.

"ALBUS! Find Horace and come over! Poland has been invaded! Wizards have been spotted in the German army! War has started!"


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: October 1939: Hitler makes plans for the invasion of Belgium and the Netherlands. His peace offers to England and France are turned down by Chamberlain and Daladier.**

Although Dumbledore and Slughorn had spent a day or so in meetings, they returned fairly soon. There was little to be done at that moment – they simply did not have the fighting force to even take on Grindelwald and his wizards, let alone the Muggle army along with it. After a lengthy meeting with the Muggle government, however, the Muggle world did agree not to make peace with the aggressors.

"If it were merely a Muggle affair, we might lend you aide but leave it up to you how to fight this war," Prewett had argued, "I am aware you cannot face this wizard and his troops as well, and this prompts you to agree to peace, but we are working hard to gather our own troops. Our war council has been active for quite some time and we have a good idea what our enemy is up to. It is vitally important that we communicate and work together, now. We stand no chance against an onslaught of armed Muggles – you stand no chance against a group of power-hungry Wizards, and he wizard behind the German Chancellor is extremely power-hungry. He will come for you, no matter what promises he or his ally make now."

It took several more hours, but the Muggles agreed not to accept any peace offer and stand by their declaration of war.

"If you do not, you will soon find yourself at a standstill, with most of Europe under German control," Prewett had reminded them. Albus had grown to respect this young man a great deal. He was proving most capable.

Eventually the Muggles had agreed, though he understood there had been some pressure from some countries who had declared neutrality to accept the German offer.

"Until there are outright hostilities, the best we can work with is spies," Horace grumbled, "and the Wizarding World is not big enough to send in a spy unnoticed." He lifted his firewhiskey – they had decided on a short stop at Hogsmead before going back to the school.

Aberforth, taking a break from stocking shelves, nodded in agreement.

"I could," Albus hesitatingly put forth, "I could make him believe I was ready to join him…to pick up our rela…"

"NO!" Both his brother and his friend exclaimed immediately.

"That is out of the question," Aberforth grunted.

"You know very well the risks of such an enterprise," Horace sharply reminded his friend, "Not to mention there is not just yourself to consider. You have a son, now. A son that desperately needs you. Think of what it would do to the boy if you were to sacrifice yourself needlessly."

Albus stared at them. "People would die."

"We've told you before, and I am telling you again," Horace said bluntly, "We may be able to take on one Dark Lord and recover from our losses. We will never be able to handle two."

"Do you not trust me?" Albus asked, slightly hurt.

Aberforth turned to stare his brother in the eye. "Do you trust yourself?" he parried.

After a long, tense silence Albus looked away. "No. Not yet," he had to painfully admit.

ssssssssss

Alastor stomped into the Great Hall where he'd agreed to meet Tom to work on a Charms assignment, threw his bookbag on the table and sat down with a huff.

Tom looked up from his books in surprise. "Al?"

"First years can be SO annoying!" Alastor complained, "I am certain WE never were such pains in the arse!"

Tom blushed, but was saved from replying by John Shephard.

"Alastor Moody!" the passing Prefect admonished, "language! I'd hate to take points."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, John," Al waved away the older boy.

He turned back to Tom, who wondered what he had missed. He certainly had heard nothing untoward about the first year Gryffindors so far.

"There is this annoying girl in our House. She is Muggleborn."

Tom started a bit. Even though anti- Muggleborn sentiments were common among the Purebloods, Alastor never seemed to have had any problem with that. For the largest part of last year, they had assumed Tom was Muggleborn, after all.

"I was Muggle raised," Tom offered quietly.

"It's not that she is Muggleborn!" Alastor threw his Charms book in front of him, "I don't mind that! It's that she is asking so many questions! Can't she just read a book or something?"

At that moment, Filius Flitwick entered the Hall, his ever-cheerful attitude beaming at the small girl by his side.

"Oh no," Alastor moaned, "there she is! Hide me, Tom!"

Tom studied the girl. She wasn't a particularly attractive girl. She was in that stage all first year girls seemed to be at, where they were all teeth. Her brown hair had been cut to shoulder length where it curled around the edges a little. She seemed quite common to Tom, though he did think she suited Gryffindor – not many first years would dare approach a seventh year, especially not in the first weeks.

Luck wasn't on Alastors side that day. Filius walked over to where they were sitting.

"Hello!" his high, squeaky voice greeted them, "I saw your names on the list for the Dueling Club – great! And well done for moving up to third year, Mr Riddle."

Even though everyone knew by now Tom had been adopted by the Transfiguration Professor, he still generally used his own name in school. It would prevent a lot of teasing and accusations of favouritism if people weren't constantly reminded of his relationship with a teacher. There were already rumours circulating that Toms moving up to Third Year was the doing of his adoptive father.

That is why Tom grimaced a bit. "I worked hard for the tests," he defended himself.

"Of course you did," Flitwick seemed surprised, "I looked up your grades in the records. What they say about your father buying or otherwise influencing your grades is rubbish – those tests are foul-proof. You must have done the work yourself, and if your father helped you study, well, other parents do that, too. In the end, it's your own brain that has to have all the information inside for you to pass the tests."

He hesitated a little. "But practical spellwork is something else. Not everyone's power level keeps pace with their knowledge, and no matter how safe we try to make it, duelling is dangerous."

Tom's face became blank. So he wouldn't be allowed to join the club. That was unfair. Angry thoughts began to run through his head, fuelled by the disappointment.

"Now don't be like that!" the older boy shook his head and glared down at Tom, even though Tom was at least half a head taller. "I never said you could not join. I just want to do a little practice with you before the club starts, to make sure you can do the spells required. I am responsible for the club, after all, and if I deem it unsafe but let people join anyway, I would be remiss. You are not the only one I've asked to do this, there are other Third years and even Fourth years that are going to meet with me prior to our first session."

"And First and Second years?" the girl next to him piped up.

"I was getting there," Flitwick seemed unperturbed by the girl's interruption.

"This is Samantha Maylee," he told the boys, "Alastor already knows her, I expect, since she is in your House. She has told me I have been neglectful in not providing the same opportunity for the First and Second years."

"I can only imagine," Alastor muttered from under his book.

"Professor Dippet agreed that the First and Second years can have a club of their own, but a Defence Club. It will be a preparatory club to the actual Dueling Club and will focus on offensive and defensive spells, and the theory of duelling. I KNOW, Sam," his voice squeeked a little higher than usual, "it is not what you wanted, but better this than nothing, right?"

As the girl reluctantly nodded, he went on, "Plus, it provides me with an alternative for those Third years who do not pass the test for the actual Dueling Club. I may require them to study with the First and Second years for a while if they truly want to join the Club."

He took his leave. "Come see me tomorrow evening," he told Tom, "oh – I heard you were studying Gobbledegook last year. Do you plan to continue that this year?"

"I may not have as much time to devote to it, but yes," Tom answered.

Flitwick nodded. "My grandfather was a Goblin," he said, "If you like I can help you with the proper pronunciation. Humans never seem to get that quite right."

With a vague 'until tomorrow, then' he walked off to his own table, leaving the girl standing by the two boys.

Alastor muttered something about forgetting his quill, and positively fled from the Hall. The girl looked crestfallen.

"Hi, I am Sam," she offered to Tom, sounding a little down.

"I am Tom," Tom replied, mentally closing his Charms book for a bit.

She nodded, and was silent for a little while.

"Does your friend hate me?" she finally asked, "he always avoids me. Does he dislike Muggleborns? The other girls tell me some Purebloods do."

"Al doesn't dislike Muggleborns, he dislikes you asking him so many questions," Tom replied bluntly, "he doesn't like to be bothered so much."

"Oh…" the teeth disappeared and the mouth formed a small circle. "I didn't realize…I just…everything is so strange, and I just want to know…" the girl stammered.

"I know. I was Muggle raised. If you want, I'll loan you some of the books I read," Tom reached inside his bag and pulled out a few books on Wizard culture and society, "here. These should help."

He watched the girl stammer her thanks and skip off with the books. Inwardly he congratulated himself on such a good idea. He didn't need the books anymore, having practically memorized them, and if the girl left him and Al alone, they might actually get some work done.

sssssssssssss

"Gather around, gather around," Professor Kettleburn limped towards the pen, "So. You lot have taken up Care of Magical Creatures, eh?"

He surveyed the crowd of young faces. "Let me tell you something. Every creature in this class is beautiful. Not just the cute baby unicorns or the Kneazle kittens. All creatures. Might be the ugliest son-of-a-bitch you've ever seen, but something in it is beautiful. If you aren't prepared to learn to see that, you will never make it in this class. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Professor," some hesitant voices called out.

"Good. Now." The man reached inside his pocket and pulled out some slimy long things. Several girls took a step back with a silent 'eww' written all over their faces.

"Honestly. You'd think you'd all seen Flobberworms by now in Potions," Professor Kettleburn shook his head, "ain't a lot of difference between the live and dead ones, though. You, Riddle. Come here."

Tom stepped forwards, prepared to be called upon to help feed the Flobberworms, but the Professor put them in a jar with some lettuce and motioned him to a large crate.

"Oh," Tom said, "Fire crabs!"

"Clever boy. Yes, these are Fire crabs. Young ones."

The small creatures were clamouring over each other, resembling little tortoises with small jewelled shells.

"Normally, you wouldn't see these," Professor Kettleburn said, covering himself and Tom with some fire-resisting spells, "They don't live near here, but in Fiji. They are endangered. The shells, you see. Valuable, of course, but the poor creatures have been hunted too much because of it. I have a special permit to import these as part of a breeding program. Once these mature, we will see if they will produce eggs. Any offspring will then be returned to Fiji. Trick is, they shoot fire out of their rear end – yes, laugh if you like. Wait till your first shot of firewhiskey, then you'll know how uncomfortable that can be. So handling them requires some care. Riddle, I want you to very carefully pick one up without upsetting it. If you do upset it, you are protected, but it'll still hurt. Pain will teach you to be more careful next time and to keep a healthy respect for all creatures."

Kettleburn pointed to a large pond. "Place it in there."

Tom bent over the crate, and slowly extended a finger to one of the squirming young crabs. It sniffed, if that was the right word for an amphibian, at his finger.

"Oh come on, pick one up already," one of his classmates said, impatiently, "what are you waiting for? Trying to steal its gems?"

Tom ignored the man and extended his whole hand. The small creature looked at him, crawled onto his hand, opened its tiny jaw and gave his thumb a firm suck.

"It has no teeth," Tom remarked in surprise.

"And it won't. It eats soft foods right now. When mature, the jaws will harden to allow it to eat solids."

Carefully standing up, Tom walked towards the pond. There he lowered his hand by the water's edge, and let the creature climb down from his hand and into the water. It peddled around comically, apparently happy to have freedom of movement.

"Well done," the gruff voice of his professor said as the girls ooh-ed and aah-ed over the small crab.

"Now. I will put spells on you. All of you get a crab and put it in the water. Take your time, just like Riddle here did. Never rush with animals. Never rush."

Several of the others took this advice to heart and also managed to get their crab safely from crate to (heated) pond. Some of the others did get theirs to the pond but suffered the creatures flames as well. Tiny as they were, the effect was limited to their hands and the spells prevented any actual damage, but they still had sore fingers for the rest of the day.

The boy who had mocked Tom thought simply grabbing the crab and tossing it in the pond from a distance would prevent burns. It took Professor Kettleburn some time to calm the fortunately unharmed but upset crab, and he immediately dismissed the boy, sending him to the castle and Horace Slughorn to explain being banned from the class.

All in all, Tom thought, it had been quite a good lesson.

"Professor? How long until they mature? I mean – when will they produce eggs?"

Kettleburn looked at him. "That might be a while, lad. I'd be surprised if we have the first batch of eggs while you lot are still in school. Fire crabs take time to mature."

"How old do they get?" one of the boys asked.

"We're not sure. They don't generally die of old age, since they're hunted so much. This bunch may be our best chance to research that, too. There's plenty of opportunity for extra credit assignments for you, the next few years."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N ****With the resignation of Neville Chamberlain, Winston Churchill becomes Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. Winston Churchill, in his first address as Prime Minister, tells the House of Commons, "I have nothing to offer you but blood, toil, tears, and sweat."**

"Immobilis!"

Tom grunted as he dropped to the floor. His wand was summoned from his limp hand, only to be followed by a counter curse seconds later. He stood up and brushed himself off, trying to get his anger under control.

"That was very good," Filius commented brightly.

Tom gave him a glare.

"It was," the older boy admonished, "you are not yet thirteen and had all of a year of schooling. You fought against a much older, much more experienced opponent. Of course you lost. I have some hints for you to improve your dueling, but overall I think you more than qualify for the Dueling Club. You outperform several third years I accepted into the Club without hesitation."

Tom's face was blank, not reacting to either the admonishment or the praise. Flitwick moved towards him.

"Your anger is your biggest obstacle," he said bluntly, "your desire to take it out on your opponent makes you careless."

"I will work harder on suppressing my feel…" Tom began, but the seventh year cut him off.

"Don't! Never suppress them, or they will come out at the most inopportune moment in a duel. Find a good way to release them prior to a duel. I like to levitate and destroy pillows when I am angry. Going for a run or degnoming the Greenhouses work also. Sometimes it helps to just vent to someone. But don't suppress them. Learn to deal with them. Come to a duel clean and calm."

"Not going to work if you have to duel unexpectedly," Tom said, recalling how Grindelwald's men had jumped him.

"True. And in those cases you have no choice but to temporarily postpone your anger and fear until afterwards. Our own bodies help us with that by producing the necessary adrenaline."

Flitwick regarded him thoughtfully. "Do you know what Occlumency is?"

Tom shook his head.

"It is guarding your thoughts and your mind against intrusion. It is not suppressing or hiding them – it is guarding them. I have been studying that art for a while now under Professor Slughorn. You might want to go to him for some advice."

Tom nodded. "And the duelling club…"

"Have you not heard me say you more than qualify? Yes, you are in, and I hope to see you there frequently," Filius smiled and patted the younger boy on the back. "You certainly have talent."

ssssssssss

Albus found himself relaxing just the slightest bit for the first time in over a year. While the war had started, it was currently at a standstill, and would likely be for some time. Tom seemed to be settling in well, finally. The dueling club allowed him to work off his excess energy and so far no more trouble had followed. In fact, the boy was well on his way to becoming a model student.

Since his talk with Aberforth about Ariana, and his confession of his guilt in not caring for her and causing her death, something had changed between them. Aberforth at first had seemed distrustful when he took in Tom, but seeing how faithfully his brother cared for the boy, how much he worried over the child, the younger Dumbledore gradually warmed towards both the boy and his estranged older brother. Their combined efforts in stopping Grindelwald, which forced them to work together, helped close the gap.

Once in a while Albus would now come down to Hogsmeade for a drink. Aberforth after a while found himself looking forward to these visits. They were sometimes quiet, sometimes painful as they worked their way through old and unpleasant memories, sometimes fun when they mused on better times and the mischief they got into as boys. They told each other some stories of their Hogwarts years, for though they had shared the same building for four years, they had not actually interacted during that time. Their lives, though taking place in the same castle, had been very much separated.

"So, how is the boy?" Aberforth inquired.

"Doing well enough," his brother took a sip of butterbeer, "he has joined the duelling club, and he has plenty of work on his hands now that he is in third year. He enjoys the challenge and has less time for mischief. His social skills finally seem to be improving as well. At the very least, he accepts Alastor correcting him. I have more hope for him now than I did a year ago."

Aberforth nodded thoughtfully. "You have done well by him," he grudgingly admitted, "Don't know much when it comes to youngsters, but it seems you are a good father."

It was quiet for a while.

"Sometimes I am afraid I would not be able to resist if I were to see Gellert," Albus suddenly admitted.

Aberforth by an act of the will did not react, merely grunted a 'oh?'

"Power is still my weakness," Albus admitted painfully, "and Gellert, you must admit, could be charming..."

Aberforth shifted a little uncomfortably. "Never figured out what you saw in him, but then again, I'm not…" he tried to find a term that would not insult his brother.

Albus looked away. "He was always charming, not just to me. I doubt now his affections were ever as genuine as mine – and they were, Abe. Despite all our dreams of power, I fancied myself very much in love…"

Abe nodded curtly. "What hold does he have over the German Chancellor, I wonder," he changed the subject.

"I do not know. Perhaps the same as the hold he had over me. Perhaps promises of power, riches, glory. Perhaps the German Chancellor is simply convinced magic will be the easy way to reach his goals and this alliance of theirs will be mutually beneficial. Whatever the reason, whatever threats this Adolf Hitler poses, Grindelwald is pulling the strings, whether Mr Hitler realizes it or no."

ssssssssssss

Tom was studying in the library. His workload was much more challenging this year, and the Dueling Club required some research as well. He was grateful that the Chess Club required less attention, and the afternoons he spent there were quite relaxing. Still he had so far managed to maintain O average in most of his classes. Professor Dumbledore had absolutely forbidden him from doing homework on Friday, saying he needed at least one night off to relax, but Tom told himself that research for the Dueling Club did not count as homework.

Having jotted down a number of jinxes and hexes in his notebook – Filius had recommended them all to keep a journal with their research so they would not need to drag endless books with them to the club – he wandered down the rows of books, waiting for the ink to dry in his journal. He idly picked up a few more advanced books on Defense. The curses in that one were above his skill level as of yet, but he found the theory interesting.

The Restricted Section, he was sure, would have even more information. Generally only the NEWT students were allowed in there without a pass, and even they had to notify the Librarian, a lazy man in his forties named Winfred Tewksberry, that they were going in there.

Tom decided to try his luck.

"Mr Tewksberry, Sir?" the Librarian, while lazy, also felt inferior to the Professors, and any student addressing him with the same respect as they would a Professor was sure to get preferential treatment.

"Yes, boy?" The man, his feet propped up on the desk as he read the paper, examined the child, "Oh. You are that boy Albus Dumbledore adopted."

"Yes, Mr Tewksberry, Sir," Tom replied politely, "Mr Tewksberry…"

The man who had returned to his paper looked up once more.

"Yes?"

"Mr Tewksberry, I'm doing an extra credit assignment, and I wanted to ask Professor Merrythought for a Library Pass, but she wasn't in her office before I came here…."

He pasted an appropriately desperate look on his face, "Please, Sir. Couldn't you write me a pass?"

The man pulled down his feet, flattered by the request. "Now, you know I'm not a Professor, boy…"

"You are as good as, Sir," Tom looked up at him with large, honest eyes, "You know the whole Library!"

"Ah, yes, well…I have worked here quite a few years now…twelve? Thirteen? No matter. The fact remains, young Dumbledore, I cannot write you a pass."

Tom sighed deeply and stared at the floor. "I wanted to finish my assignment this weekend, and Professor Merrythought has gone out…"

He drooped his shoulders. "Now what am I going to do? So stupid of me…"

The Librarian cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well. I guess under these circumstances…I could make an exception…IF you promise to bring me the Pass on Monday when Gala – I mean, Professor Merrythought returns."

Tom brightened considerably. "Really Sir? Oh, thank you, thank you so much! I'll put down in my essay how much you helped me, I promise!"

Tewksberry blushed just the slightest bit. "Run along quickly now. You have less than an hour before curfew."

He returned to his desk and his paper, smiling slightly to himself.

Tom knew perfectly well the man would have forgotten all about the pass by the time it was Monday. In fact, he was fairly certain that by curfew, the man would not remember the entire conversation beyond a vague feeling that today, a student had been nice to him.

ssssssssssssss

Alastor Moody frowned. He and Tom usually used the late Saturday morning to work on their assignments, but Tom was late. He had also not been around the night before, even though Alastor was certain he had agreed to meet with Tom in the Chess Club's room for a game.

Finally, half an hour after their normal meeting time, Tom entered the Great Hall.

"Hey," Alastor said, "did you forget our game last night?"

Tom stared at him blankly for a second before his eyes widened slightly. "Oh – sorry Alastor!"

That convinced the other boy that Tom had honestly forgotten.

"Where were you?"

"In the library," Tom replied, pulling out his parchments and quill.

"Library? But I thought Professor Dumbledore doesn't want you working on Friday nights?"

"I wasn't doing homework," Tom said with an air of conviction, "I was looking up things for the Dueling Club. That's not homework, so that doesn't count."

Somehow Alastor doubted the Professor would see it that way.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N The first week of January half the children that had been evacuated from London returned. Bacon, ham, sugar and butter is rationed in all of Britain.**

"The calm before the storm," Horace said, sipping his firewhiskey.

"Undoubtedly," Ignatius said, shaking his head, "at least finally the Muggle Ministry is taking things seriously. If only we could say as much of our own."

Aberforth propped his feet up on the table. "The Muggles are beginning to feel the pressure with the new rations. We wizards have no need to ration anything – elves can create food out of thin air if needs be, as can we ourselves. The Ministry of Magic even refuses to believe that the Muggles could so much as damage Diagon Alley. They seem to be under the impression that if they cannot see it, they cannot damage it."

"You don't need to see your target for a bomb to do damage," Horace grunted, "I very much doubt any of our wards would last long against a prolonged bombing. I have been reading up on those devices – they are murderous."

Ignatius nodded. "Sometimes I wonder why the Muggles are so impressed with Wizards."

"We can do massive damage as well," Albus pointed out, "and as spies Wizards are unbeatable. We can become invisible and because of our magical energy, normal Muggle detection devices do not pick up on us. Muggle repellent charms on important strategic sites will hamper the enemy, and it would be easy enough to charm the few Muggles that need to operate them to be excluded from the charms. The Fidelius charm would hide information very effectively and there would be no information to torture out of anyone that is not the Secret Keeper – and even the Secret Keeper can be under Fidelius. Potions and Legilimency can easily extract information from an enemy mind without the need to resort to long, laborious questioning. No, we do have many things to offer."

He paused briefly. "The most, I do agree with you there, is not strategic, however. We are able to defy the normal laws of nature in ways Muggles can only dream of. That has a certain appeal that exists entirely outside of the question how useful magic is in a given situation."

sssssssssssssssssssss

"You're not going to the library again tonight, are you?" Alastor said.

Tom shrugged. "I wanted to look up some things. Why?"

"Every time you go there, and leave me on my own, that pesky girl comes over to bother me," his friend complained. Seeing the politely puzzled look on Toms face, he continued, "Sam Maylee. Remember?"

"Oh. Yes, her. The first year who wanted to start a duelling club for their year," Tom recalled.

"The first year who keeps pestering me at every turn!" Alastor exclaimed.

"So? Tell her to bugger off," Tom didn't see the problem.

"I tried, but I lost five points for language. Now she wants me and you and some others to come to their defence club and demonstrate some duelling."

"Huh? Why? Wouldn't it be better to ask Filius for that?"

Alastor sneered. "It is because we aren't _advanced_ yet," he imitated the girl's voice badly, "we would never be able to do the kind of duelling the seventh years are doing, Alastor, but when third years like you and Riddle demonstrate we get the feeling its something we can do, too." He threw himself into his chair, sulking.

Tom shrugged. "She does have a point there."

All that got him was a glare. "It doesn't matter if she has a point! She is saying we are barely above their level, and first years could do what we do!"

He suddenly sat up straight. "You have been researching a lot of spells, haven't you?"

Upon receiving a nod, he went on, "How about you teach me some, and we will show those kids what REAL duelling is like?"

The other boy hesitated.

"Come on, Tom," Alastor pleaded, "I'm not saying we use Unforgivables. Just spice things up a little. Show the little brats it's not as easy as they think."

Wondering what Alastor's problem with this girl was, Tom nevertheless nodded reluctantly. There was, after all, no real harm in it. It would mean however that he had to postpone the trips to the Restricted Section while he studied with Alastor. Chances were through Alastor word would reach his father, who would be a lot harder to fool than Mr Tewksberry.

ssssssssssss

Professor Kettleburn punched Albus Dumbledore in the shoulder at dinner. It was Friday, a few dozen students were scattered about the Great Hall as dinner on weekends was a rather disorganized affair and most students came in when hungry or when it was convenient.

"That son of yours…"

Albus blanched. "Trouble?"

Kettleburn's remaining eyebrow went up. "Trouble? No, not at all! Well, can't say he's a very talented conversationalist with the rest of the students in the class, but he's good with the creatures."

"Still looking for an apprentice?" Horace smirked.

"He's not committed enough for that," Kettleburn took no offence at the sneers from some of his colleagues, "apprenticeship needs total commitment. Like that McGonagall girl is showing in Transfiguration, Albus. She would be apprentice material once she's taken her OWLS."

Dumbledore nodded noncommittally. At the moment, he did not feel he could combine parenthood and having an apprentice. Minerva had only just started her fourth year, however, and time would tell.

ssssssssss

Sam Maylee stared after the fuming boy and sank down on the bench that ran the length of the Gryffindor table.

"He hates me," she muttered, "and I didn't even do anything!"

Her friend Pomona, a Hufflepuff she had met on the train to school, rolled her eyes.

"Boys don't like being shown up," she said, wondering how her friend could be so dense, "and you basically told him that_ anyone_ can duel as well as he can…that he's no better than a first year."

Sam looked at her in shock. "I didn't mean it that way!" she exclaimed.

"*I* know that," Pomona sounded exhasperated, "but *he* doesn't. If you want to impress him, you're going about it the wrong way."

"I don't want to impress him," Sam asserted, but a dark red had been creeping up her cheeks as she spoke, "I just want to learn all I can."

Her friend wisely decided not to comment. "Well, if you want him to help you out, try thinking before you speak next time you talk to him," she advised.

They returned to their homework, thinking the matter closed. It surprised them both greatly when an hour or so later, Alastor Moody stopped by to say he and his friend Tom would be happy to tutor the first years any night that suited them the following week.

sssssssss

Albus let his gaze wander across the room of fourth years, who were working very hard to grasp the basics of human transformation. Their current assignment was to turn their partner's arm into a lion's paw, and once they managed that, to go from mammal to something more complicated and transfigure the arm into a fish tail instead.

Of course there was the occasional mishap to correct, but by now most of the class at least managed a correct arm-to-lions-paw transfiguration, though Peregrin Fowl, brilliant at Ancient Runes but with little talent for Transfiguration, still tended to create a lions paw without nails.

He had deliberately paired up the boy with Minerva McGonagall, who managed the arm-to-fishtail transfiguration without problems two class periods ago and then got herself into trouble by becoming bored and transfiguring Ravenclaw Pauline Pepper's head into a fish head as well after the girl had made a nasty remark.

He could not really blame Minerva. The Ravenclaw girl had been very snotty to her, but he could not allow such things in his classroom, especially during the initial stages of learning human transfiguration. Miss McGonagall had spent two nights in detention with him, writing a long essay on the dangers of his craft and why one should avoid messing with them.

Fortunately he had been able to quickly reverse the transfiguration on Miss Pepper before it became necessary to find temporary residence for her in the lake. Still, the girl needed a full minute to catch her breath once her head returned to normal, and he'd sent her off to the nurse to make sure there were no lingering effects. After that, he had decided that giving Miss McGonagall some extra credit work and asking her to help her struggling classmate was probably a better way to prevent boredom. Hopefully it would also keep her tendency to spell classmates to a minimum.

He'd had to admit it had been a very good bit of wandwork, though.

If it wasn't for Tommy, he'd apprentice her in a heartbeat after she passed her OWLs. But apprentices took a lot of time and energy, and he already struggled to find enough time for his son. Tom seemed to be doing much better, but was he ready yet to share his father? There was still a year and a half to go before such a decision needed to be made, Albus told himself, and Tom was doing fine, finally staying out of trouble and socializing more. He was even going to help Alastor tutor some of the youngest children. Yes, he had high hopes for Tom.

ssssssss

"Alastor?"

The boy in question groaned and looked at Tom for help. Tom stared back blankly, not sure what Al wanted. The first years had asked them to come Monday night, and they had spent most of the weekend getting ready. Alastor had copied a great many spells from Toms notebook.

Sam bit her lip. "I wanted to apologise. I didn't realize I insulted you when I asked you to help us. I really didn't mean to imply you aren't good at duelling. It's very nice of you that you still came."

A bit embarrassed, Alastor nodded and the girl hurried away.

"Crap," Alastor muttered, running his hand through his hair.

Tom looked from the girl to his friend and back. "Do you want to call it off?" he asked, a bit unsure, "send them all away?"

"Well, we can't do that now, can we?" Alastor said, chagrined, "but we can't trounce them like we planned to, either."

"Like you planned," Tom pointed out.

"Your spells," Alastor retorted.

"You can just show them some of them," Tom suggested, still not seeing why Alastor was making such a big deal out of this. First he wanted to show off to the first years, then he didn't, but then he still did. It was beyond Tom, but he would go along with his friend. He'd already planned his own schedule to accommodate this evening, so they might as well get some duelling in as far as he was concerned.

It did seem the girl's apology had deflated Alastors need for revenge though. The duelling went as normal, with the third years obviously being superior in spell knowledge and magical power, but the first years had some very creative duellers. Tom found himself learning a trick or two. Then afterwards Alastor demonstrated some of the more difficult spells they had learned.

Finally, he ended with a spell that sent a vaguely reddish disc towards the door, that opened at that moment. Had Filius Flitwick been a normal human size for his age, he would have been hit by the full force of the spell. As it was, the disc missed his head by inches, and slammed into the opposite wall, leaving a black, smoking mark.

The entire class stared in shock.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: 12/04/1940: The British government authorises the internment of Germans living in Britain.**

Although Horace Slughorn outright dismissed his fellow Head of House's accusation that Alastor and Tom had tried to murder one of Ravenclaw's star pupils, he could not deny that the boys had been, at the very least, irresponsible.

He thanked his lucky starts, however, that Albus was out of the castle. His friend would undoubtedly overreact.

"Alright boys. Time to sort this out," he said encouragingly to the children standing in front of his desk. Alastor looked pale and worried, and he was fairly sure the boy had not actually known what the spell would do. That meant someone had given him the spell. And the person that most likely did was standing right next to him. Tom's face was as unreadable as always.

Alastor said nothing, and Horace felt a surge of pride. Tom had made a friend that was loyal enough to keep his silence when all he had to do was blame everything on Tom. Then he got a second surprise. Tom looked up.

"It was my fault. I gave Alastor the spell, but I must have forgotten to include the notes on what it does."

"I think it is quite clear that Alastor did not, in fact, know what the spell was going to do," Professor Slughorn said sternly, "or else he would not have risked throwing it in a room full of younger children. Hand me your spellbook, Tom."

Tom slowly took the book out of his bag and handed it over. Many students kept a spellbook, to write down the spells they were learning, with notes reminding them of pronunciation or wand movements.

Horace glanced over the entrances. "Hmmm…."

"Funny. I seem to recall these spells appear in tomes found in the Restricted Section of the library," he commented.

Alastor shot Tom a look.

Horace stared at the children. "I suggest, boys, that you start explaining."

ssssssss

Alastor walked the lengthy corridor, a bit dazed still. Tom walked besides him, not saying a word.

"You really got Mr Tewksberry to let you into the Restricted Section?" he asked.

Tom nodded. He wasn't quite sure how his friend would take his trips there, but Alastor grinned widely. "Wicked! Clever move, fooling Tewksberry like that."

Tom looked up.

"You should have told me which spells you got from there," Alastor lightly punched him in the shoulder, "we're lucky no one got hurt. Too bad Professor Slughorn confiscated your spellbook."

Tom grimaced. The work of several trips to the Restricted Section gone to waste. Alastor got one detention for not paying closer attention – Professor Slughorn had told him sternly that trying to impress could lead to serious problems. Tom himself was in bigger trouble, besides sharing Alastors detention.

"You will apologise to Mr Tewksberry for lying to him," the tone of Professor Slughorns voice had suggested that the librarian might not escape unscathed, either.

"You will also apologise to Mr Flitwick and explain what happened. If that means he bans you from the duelling club and ends your lessons with him, that is his full right and I will not speak on your behalf if he does. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Tom had replied, and then, "Must you tell Professor Dumbledore?"

"I must not, no," Professor Slughorn had steepled his fingers, "However, he is likely to learn of it anyway. It may be sensible that he hears it from you."

And with that hanging over his head the teacher had shooed them out.

ssssssssssss

Filius Flitwick gave his Potions Master a serious look.

"As I said, I will not try to change your mind if you decide to ban Tom from the duelling club and stop his lessons, Filius," Professor Slughorn said, "it is your full right. You could have been badly hurt."

The young man leaned back, giving the matter some thought. "I wish to know, Professor, what exactly is wrong with Tom Riddle," he said eventually, "I know he is not quite normal. He is different from last year, I admit that, but he seems to lack some basic understanding about human interactions and feelings. Yet at the same time he is highly intelligent and showing a great deal of dedication in his lessons."

Horace sighed. "I do not know how much I should tell you, since it is Professor Dumbledore, not I, who is Toms guardian."

"You know very well, Professor, that what you tell me will not go beyond these four walls," for a moment, the Professor felt chastised by his student.

"It is not whether or not I trust you, Mr Flitwick, because you know I do," he gave the boy a severe look that had no other effect than to put a slight smile on the Ravenclaw's face, "It is whether or not I have the right to share this."

"Then let me tell you of my suspicions, and you can simply confirm or deny them," the young man said, "Tom grew up in an orphanage, correct?"

"Yes," his Professor replied, "he was born there. His mother died there at his birth."

"It does not seem that Tom had many friends there, or cared a great deal about any specific staff members. He never mentions the orphanage or anyone he knew there."

Slughorn couldn't help but feel that this young man was quite perceptive. In later years, Flitwick would undoubtedly be at a disadvantage because of his size – he had no doubt that the adult Flitwick would have problems getting people to take him seriously. Horace Slughorn however was certain he, at least, would now never make that mistake.

"Although the Matron of the orphanage already was in that position when Tom was born, the staff that has the daily care of the children changes frequently. There is little opportunity for the children to build a relationship with any staff member. Or among each other, really," Horace added, more to himself than to his student, "since there is a constant stream of children coming in and children getting adopted out."

"So Tom has had little opportunity to acquire any social skills or mature emotionally and was fairly left to raise himself," Flitwick concluded, "at the same time he has a thirst for knowledge and a hunger for power. That is a dangerous combination, Professor."

Slughorn did not attempt to deny it.

"Very well," Filius said after a long silence, "I will continue to teach him and let him stay in the club. There is a charms demonstration at Oakfield Institute of Practical Magic two weeks from Saturday in which I participate as part of my pre-Master, Professor. I will ask Professor Dumbledore if Tom and Alastor may accompany me there. It may teach them caution in spell work and at the same time, give them some creative, more benign challenges to put their minds to."

Slughorn smiled, his relief evident. "Thank you, Filius. If I may however, I would instead propose that we convince Headmaster Dippet to allow all Third Years who are interested to attend. It would be a great opportunity for our students, and not give Tom and Alastor the impression they are being rewarded for misbehaviour!"

ssssssssss

Two days later, Horace sat in his rooms, his slightly shaking hand holding a glass of firewhiskey. He did not normally drink during the school week, but he definitely felt he needed it now. Albus and himself did not always see eye to eye on matters, but usually they were able to discuss their views calmly and reach a compromise – or agreed to disagree if a compromise was not possible. Rarely did they full-out fight, but on the few occasions where they had, the results had been months of hidden hostility until they got properly drunk together, decided whatever the issue had been, it was not worth risking their friendship over and buried the hatchet.

He very much wondered if that solution was possible this time.

It had started with Tom's confession and apology to his guardian. Horace still couldn't help but grin a little bit when the boy had chosen a time he knew the Potions Master would likely be with the Transfiguration professor. Undoubtedly he had already noticed that his guardian was far more likely to reign in his first angry reaction in favour of thinking things over before responding when the Potions Master was present.

Albus had, indeed, sent the boy off with merely a scolding and admonishment to fulfil the punishment the Potions Master had set upon him.

When the child had left, he dropped into a chair and groaned.

"Where did I go wrong? Am I spending too much time away from the castle?"

Horace rolled his eyes. "Albus, try to see things in perspective, will you? The boy snuck into the Restricted Section. No, he should not have and yes, he is being punished for that, but almost every student tries to get past Winfred once in while, and last year alone almost a dozen of them succeeded. The man is, I'm afraid, not a very effective Librarian."

"He lied and manipulated to do it!" Albus countered.

"Well no student ever got into the Restricted Section where they weren't supposed to be by being honest!" Horace threw up his hands in exasperation, "not every instance of childish mischief he undertakes means he is going Dark, Al!"

"I have been researching," Albus said, ignoring his friends arguments, "it is possible to bind…to remove his magic."

"What?" Slughorn asked, not believing his ears.

"It is slightly Dark, but I think I can get Ministry approval once it has been established that the boy is indeed going Dark…" Albus feverishly explained.

"NO! Are you crazy? Albus, you are overreacting! Listen to yourself, man."

"He manipulated Winfred! Played on his desires!"

"So?" Horace bellowed, "Winfred feels inferior to the staff and will cater to everyone that treats him with regards. Everyone knows that about Winfred, any student could have done that! The boy is a Slytherin after all."

"Exactly!" Albus paced the room, "what is he learning? What habits is he picking up on? What morals will he adopt?"

"I am a Slytherin, Albus," Horace's voice was low and slightly cold, "I assure you Slytherin does have standards. Tom is clever, not depraved."

"But he will go Dark."

"You wanted to keep the boy safe so he would not turn Dark," Slughorn said coldly, "but it seems to me you want more than that. You want him to be your image of a Gryffindor. He is not that, nor will he ever be. You don't want to just save him from the Dark, you want to change more than that, you want to change who he is. He IS a Slytherin with many of the admirable traits Slytherin possessed. Admirable, yes! We're not a collection of twisted Dark wizards corrupting young minds to our evil ways! Don't get too fixed on Gryffindor as an ideal and don't project your own darkness on Tom. He must be kept from going Dark, but he also has a right to be his own person, even if not every aspect of that personality meets *your* high and mighty standards!"

Eventually things had deteriorated to the point where they were close to a full blown fist fight. Horace had gathered up enough of his senses to leave and retreat to his rooms, licking his wounds and wondering how in the world they were ever going to recover from this fight.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: March 18, 1940. ****Hitler and Mussolini meet at the Brenner pass on the Austrian border; Benito Mussolini agrees with Hitler that Italy will enter the war "at an opportune moment".**

_A/N 2: It has been a while since I updated any of my stories. Life has been hectic. I cannot promise regular updates, but I will do my best._

Headmaster Dippet hated to admit to being wrong. This was not a personality trait unique to Headmaster Dippet; very few people he knew would be glad to admit they were wrong. Headmaster Dippet had to admit he had been wrong about Tom Riddle, or at the very least, had not given the boy a fair chance. It was obvious that the boy had problems, apparently caused – at least according to his teachers – by the boy's upbringing in a Muggle orphanage. Dippet had no problems with half-blood and muggleborn students. The Muggle world did not interest him in the slightest, as he considered wizards superior to them. That they occasionally brought forth witches and wizards, capable ones too, was a point in their favour but other than that, their affairs were of no interest to him.

Perhaps even if he, himself were not interested in that world, however, it might have been sensible to listen to those of his wizard brethren who did. He might have reacted more adequately to a boy who, despite all his problems, was turning out to be a strong and capable wizard.

The past year he had felt that his Transfiguration Professor and Potions Master had formed a solid front against him on behalf of the child, but these days something was off with the two of them. They were not speaking, ignoring each other's presence, even exchanging glares when forced to interact. It had been years since they'd had a fight this serious, and it was taking them a very long time to resolve it. Meanwhile Tom, who seemed to be staying mostly out of trouble this year, became withdrawn from both his guardian and his Head of House, spending all his time with the Moody boy and a few others from the chess club. He had noticed some ferocious matches going on in the Hall between him and the McGonagall girl, and was forced to step in a few times when the students watching had been caught making small bets on the outcome.

Albus' and Horace's help had changed the boy last year. Now they were caught up in their own fight, which was sure to have negative repercussions on Tom's progress. Armando Dippet was not a stupid man, nor a blind man, even though he chose the turn a blind eye to certain things. He was also honest enough to accept when he had been wrong. So on a sunny morning in early spring, he summoned Tom to his office. The child arrived looking wary, which could hardly be considered surprising.

"Headmaster?"

Dippet looked up from his papers. "Ah, Mr Ri- Dumbledore."

"I still go by Riddle, Sir."

"A wise precaution while in school, but your name has officially been changed, I think?"

"Yes, Sir."

He nodded towards the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down, please."

Tom reluctantly lowered himself onto the chair, obviously intent on getting out again at the earliest possible opportunity.

"I called you up here because I owe you an apology, Mr Riddle," Armando ignored the frowns from some of the more severe looking paintings surrounding him, who apparently took offence at a headmaster apologizing to a student.

"I have not given you a fair chance last year, and may have overreacted to some of the mischief you have undertaken."

This was so unexpected Tom did not react immediately. Finally he squirmed a bit in his chair.

"I do regret causing you pain, Sir," he offered, "It was thoughtless and careless."

"Children are not known for thinking through their actions," Dippet smiled a little at the boy, "and I have heard good reports about you since then. You work diligently in your classes, and an instructor from Oakfield contacted me to say they were impressed with your performance when your year visited their Institute."

"The experiments they had set up were interesting, and Alastor did a good deal of the work, Sir."

"Yes, they were quite impressed with young Mr Moody as well. They were pleased with your year as a whole, I believe, which means you have all been a credit to Hogwarts. And considering you skipped a year, that is even more impressive. Which is one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Your grades…"

"I know my grades have gone down…" Tom interrupted with a concerned frown, and then realized his mistake in interrupting the older man. "Sorry, Sir."

"Your grades went from all O's to half O, half E. That is hardly a drop in grades to be concerned about, and to be honest, I expected a far bigger decline considering the demands put upon you by having to keep up with the third year curriculum. Your grades as such are not my concern. What does concern me is whether or not you are not overexerting yourself keeping them at this level."

Tom hesitated. The Headmaster's interest in him was a complete surprise, and the man did try to expel him, albeit deserved. Perhaps he had simply realized that Tom had potential, and that it would be worth the effort to cultivate it. That line of reasoning seemed logical to Tom, and he would be a fool not to attempt to establish a positive relationship with the Headmaster, who was in a position to aid him – especially now that his guardian and Head of House were at such odds.

Not that Professor Dumbledore neglected him. He was provided with everything he needed and he knew he was welcome at any time, but something had changed. Tom could feel it. His guardian was a little more reserved, though some of that could be contributed to the attempts Professor Dumbledore made not to speak ill of the Potions Master in front of Tom. Yet there was an additional tension that made Tom wonder if perhaps the fight had been about him.

Then he realized that Professor Dippet was still awaiting a response, and he shook his head.

"Not overworked, Sir. It does take more effort to keep up my grades, but at least I'm not as bored as in first year…Sorry, Sir, I didn't mean it like that."

Dippet shook his head. "No offense taken. It is hardly your fault the curriculum did not challenge you sufficiently, and I am glad moving you to third year solved that problem. Do you enjoy your dueling with Mr Flitwick?"

Tom's face finally showed a tiny smile. "Oh, yes, Sir. I enjoy dueling. I think I would like to duel professionally in the future, but Filius says that there are some requirements to be allowed to do so."

"Indeed. You would need to score an O on your NEWTs as well as pass the IFOD test. The International Federation of Duelers," he clarified, "which is far more demanding than the NEWT. If you still wish to be a dueler in two years, and if you score an O on your OWLs, you can apply with them for some special coursework to prepare."

"Could I start on some of it now?"

The Headmaster looked at him approvingly. "I am glad to see you are eager and ambitious, but I do not think it wise to add to your workload this year. If you manage to finish this year with good grades and a good report from Mr Flitwick, we will discuss the possibility of an extra project to prepare early next year. To allow that, however, I want to see you keeping up your current grades and extracurricular work without resorting to depriving yourself of sleep or time to eat."

He paused. "I possibly misjudged you, Mr Riddle. I am very much willing to help you in order to rectify that mistake, but I am also responsible for the welfare of my students. Prove to me that you can handle what is being thrown at you this year, and I shall endeavor to provide you with all possible assistance in the direction you wish to take. Do we have an agreement?"

Tom nodded, his face showing neither eagerness nor disappointment. The Headmaster had apparently discovered his potential and was willing to aid him – he would be foolish to reject the man's help over some misgivings about last year.

"Do you know why Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn are at odds, Sir?" if anyone could tell him, it would likely be the Headmaster.

"Regrettably, I do not," Dippet replied with a frown, "they have had rather spectacular fights in the past. In those instances, it took several months before they managed to reconcile, but they have always reconciled. I believe they will eventually do the same, this time."

ssssssssssssss

"What do you want NOW!"

The small girl took a step back, her eyes wide with shock and hurt.

"I just wanted to ask you if you could show me that spell again that we discussed in the Defense Club," she whispered.

"Can't you ask one of your friends," Alastor grumpily stuffed his books into his bag.

"I asked, but they all said something different," Sam tried to remember Pomona's advice to think before she spoke, "we have a test next week and I really want to do well."

Alastor sighed and pulled out his spellbook. "Here. I'll let you copy my notes. Be sure to show it to your friends too so everyone knows how to do it right."

"Oh, thank you!" the girl quickly pulled out parchment and ink and began to jot down the notes, shooting occasional thankful glances at Alastor.

When she was done, Alastor retrieved his notes and walked away without another word to join Tom, who had just entered the Great Hall.

"What did you do to her this time?" Tom sighed at the sad face of the girl.

"Not my fault she can't leave me alone. Something about a spell. I let her copy my notes."

"And then you walked away without a word," a voice said behind them. They turned to see a small Hufflepuff staring reprovingly at them, hands on her hips.

"Look, she's a bit overeager, but she really means well and for some reason she seems to think you're awfully clever," the girl gave Al a withering glare that told him in no uncertain terms that she did not share her friend's opinion, "and all you do is act like she's a nuisance. How would you feel if Flitwick acted that way to you, do you think? You may be in third year and we may just be stupid little kids to you, but you don't have to treat her like that. You're a stupid little kid to the seventh years, and you don't want *them* to treat you like that, either. We're all stupid little kids to our parents, but we don't want to be treated like we are."

Tom had to admire the girl. She found Al's weak spot in no time at all – Flitwick's regard, and especially the regard of his father, meant the world to Alastor – and used it expertly to defend her friend. Hufflepuffs were full of latent Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, he realized. It was only their loyalty that was the deciding factor to the Hat.

"Who are you, then?" Alastor asked, rather rudely, "I've never even seen you in the Defense Club."

"Pomona Sprout," the little scrap of a girl said with great dignity, "and I am not in that Club. Hexing the socks off of other people isn't the only thing worth doing, you know."

"Then what do you like to do?" Alastor pulled up his lip in disgust, "let me guess. You smell of dung and your fingernails are dirty. You play gardener to the House Elves, right?"

Pomona did not burst into tears, as Tom half expected. Instead, she kicked Alastor in the shin, drew her wand and cast a nasty pinching hex as he hissed and hopped about. It hit him in a rather sensitive spot, and the girl ran off as Al doubled over, gasping.

"That…little…" he managed, "I will…tell…prefect…oooh thanks," he managed as Tom cast a Finite, "Get her the detention from hell."

"Will you, now?" Tom began to wonder if people were lined up behind them to interrupt their conversations at every turn. This time Minerva stood behind them, her face downright amused at Alastor's plight.

"You are going to tell a Prefect that a first year told you off for being rude to her friend, you responded by insulting her, and then were hexed by a little girl? Are you sure you want to do that? I can just imagine the rumours flying around the Gryffindor common room…"

Alastor merely glared at her, grabbed his bag and stalked out of the Hall.

ssssssss

"Sam?" Pomona asked.

"Go away," came a muffled voice from behind the hangings around the bed.

"I really don't see why you let that boy upset you," Pomona said, "He's rude and mean. Why do you have to keep looking for him?"

Sam's face appeared, a bit blotchy. "I don't know," she admitted, "I just do."

"Well, he might not want to be around us for a while, now," Pomona hesitatingly, "I sort of...talked to him."

"Oh Mona…what did you do?" Sam asked, horrified.

"Nothing! Well, nothing at first," Pomona corrected, "then he was rude and mean so I kicked him and hexed him."

"You didn't!" Sam gasped, "what will he think of us!"

"Hopefully he'll think that next time he should get that ten foot pole out of his a…posterior and act like a civilized human being," Pomona said vehemently, "it's the only way boys learn. Trust me, I have four brothers. If my sister and I didn't do the occasional kicking and hexing, we'd be doomed."

"But now he won't want to talk to me at all!" Sam wailed.

Pomona raised an inquiring eyebrow. "And that would be bad, how?"


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: The Battle of France begins on May 10th 1940 and lasts until June 25th of that year. The result is the German occupation of Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Belgium and the north of France, with Italy occupying the south of France. The Vichy government is installed in France. On July 10th, the Battle of Britain begins.**

Alastor arrived at the Great Hall, fifteen minutes late. Tom looked up from where he sat writing a Charms essay.

"You been avoiding those girls again?" he asked.

"Shhh!" Alastor looked around, fighting off a blush, "I'm not avoiding them. I am…saving them the embarrassment of another confrontation."

"But…" Tom started, not understanding.

Alastor quickly sat down. "So, what are we working on today?" he changed the subject rather forcefully.

"I'm doing some extra work on Charms," Tom said, "Remember I told you about the Headmaster?"

"Yeah?" Alastor replied, not comprehending. Then enlightenment dawned. "Oh – right. You don't think it's enough to just pass all subjects this year, you want to have straight O's again. Notice that is not what he said, though."

"No, but it would definitely prove to him I can handle it," Tom said, "Scraping by with A's would not convince him that I can add extra work."

"First of all, I can't imagine you ever just 'scraping by with A's'. The worst you ever get is an E. Second, he does not expect perfect grades. And you know that the Headmaster knows that you know that he didn't mean that."

Tom stared at him. "Uh…"

"Oh, you know what I mean," Alastor waved him off, "and I noticed the essay for Transfiguration yesterday was supposed to be two feet. You did seven, two on what we were supposed to do and FIVE feet of extra information."

"So? I was interested in the topic," Tom shrugged.

"Or interested in making a good impression on the teacher?" Alastor asked.

Tom's face went carefully blank, a sign Alastor had learned meant that Tom was hiding some concern or emotion. Being a teen, emotions weren't Alastors forte either, but this was pretty easy to guess.

"Still thinking that fight between them is your fault?"

"I am no good, you know," Tom said sarcastically, "no matter how much Professor Dumbledore tries to redeem me, he still thinks I am. I'm still not good enough for him. He must hate me being in Slytherin."

"He shouldn't mind Slytherins, his best friend…well, former best friend, is one," Alastor said, a bit out of his depth, "and he does care for you."

"Oh, he gets me anything I need, and an allowance to get what I want," Tom conceded, "you know, forget I said anything. I'm probably wrong. He's been good to me."

With that, he turned to his Charms work. Alastor hoped to get a chance to talk later, but Tom had agreed to meet Minerva and John for some chess, and Alastor had a detention with Professor Kettleburn for being late for class three times in a row on Monday morning. Yet the conversation did not sit well with him.

sssssssss

Ignatius sighed. "I must admit I am pleasantly surprised by the ease with which we and Mr Churchill have managed to work together," he admitted, "but it is an exceedingly dangerous and explosive situation we have here. At least the Prime Minister is realistic in his expectations of the destruction a major war will bring, to all nations involved. Unfortunately, not all of our citizens are."

"I have spoken to several storekeeps and merchants," Slughorn, who had been in charge of preparing the Wizarding areas in London for the possibility of attack, said, "particularly the ones dealing with volatile items and substances. We cannot begin to evacuate all of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, but a number of them have already left, anyway. Some stubbornly refuse."

"What are the risks?" Aberforth asked.

"If bombing should occur, the wards on most stores in Diagon Alley should hold and protect against most damage shy of a direct hit. Unfortunately not all wards in Knockturn Alley are up to date."

"That we can fix, with some effort," was the general consensus of the others. Slughorn agreed. "the Goblins have no interest in Gringotts being left the only building amidst a wreckage. It would seriously cut back on their clientele. So against a reasonable discount they will help with the warding as well as offer vaults for the safekeeping of those goods we want out of the Alleys, with the promise of no questions asked…by them, anyway," he added, with a slight smirk, "though if the Ministry is sensible, it will not plan to search people or level penalties at those who bring in questionable items. That would deter the others from doing the same."

"And St Mungo's?" Ignatius asked.

"Has already moved many of their regular wards and patients to another location outside the city," Slughorn, "but will remain open as a crisis centre to take care of any casualties. They have made their Floo and Apparition points as secure as possible and request a supply of one-way Portkeys to be able to send people on to safety once treated. I have asked for volunteers from among my NEWT students to brush up on a variety of advanced healing potions so we can quickly brew any supplies in potions St Mungo's might need. Almost all of them offered – especially after I indicated extra credit might be involved."

"Good, we're as prepared in London as we can be, then," Ignatius nodded, "I'll report this to the Prime Minister."

"Will we be expected to fight alongside the Muggles?" Albus inquired.

"How?" Ignatius asked simply, "brooms are no use against airplanes. Shields are meant to stop magical energy, not bombs and bullets. Should they attempt to land troops on shore we can help."

"I have gathered together such wizards and witches as would be willing to lend aid should that occur," Dumbledore said, moving into his own responsibilities within this group, "we have about a hundred standing by, many of them Aurors. The Centaurs, I'm afraid to say, are completely unconcerned and truth be told they would be too difficult to hide from Muggle eyes…and too difficult to explain. A group of House Elves are currently being trained to, unseen or in disguise, transport casualties either to St Mungo's when wizards, or one of the Muggle hospitals when Muggle."

The others acknowledges this and the meeting went on to other points. Slughorn and Dumbledore were steadily ignoring each other, to Aberforths obvious annoyance, but at least the two remained professional enough to set their differences aside in face of this common threat. Ignatius wished they would hurry up and resolve it, however – none of them needed the additional stress it caused.

ssssssssss

"Sir?"

Albus Dumbledore looked up from the essays he was grading.

"Why hello, Mr Moody," he replied, "where is Tom?"

"He beat Minerva again last Friday night, so she's forced him into a rematch," Alastor replied, "it will go on all night, I think."

"Minerva won't be pleased," Albus smiled.

"I think not. Their agreement was that if she lost that last match, she would have to tutor Tom in Transfiguration – as if he needs it!"

"Well, it never hurts to learn something new, and Minerva has done a great deal of extra credit work over the years," the Professor lectured, "but I do not think you came here merely to inform me of Tom's studies. I can see for myself his grades are excellent."

Alastor pursed his lips. "They should be, he spends enough time and effort earning them."

The Transfiguration professor nodded slowly, suddenly wary. The boy looked – angry?

"Mr Moody…"

Alastor got a sudden surge of the reckless Gryffindor courage that was usually only just beneath the surface, and kicked the office door shut.

"When is he going to be good enough for you?" he asked his professor with enough disrespect that it would earn him a clip around the ear from his father had the man heard him.

"Excuse me?" his Professor blinked.

"You know, Tom thinks he's no good," Alastor continued, his voice bitter, "that you will always think him not good enough."

He saw the blood drain from the older wizard's face, and felt a guilty surge of satisfaction.

"He thinks your fight with Professor Slughorn is his fault, too. He thinks you fought over him."

Albus just stared. How in the world had his son known that? He had been careful to keep it from the boy.

"You think that just because Tom's not always entirely normal that he doesn't care what you think of him?" Alastor challenged, "or that he's too dense to notice that you seem to think he needs to be 'redeemed', like he told me. Like he's a criminal! My Dad says Tom didn't learn the things any child should learn when he was in the orphanage and that's why he's the way he is. How is he going to learn all those things if you make him feel like he's never good enough?"

The Professor swallowed. "I do not intent to make him feel that way."

"But you do!" Alastor accused, "Tom always feels like that anyway, but now he's right, isn't he?"

Dumbledore stood up. "Mr Moody, you have said quite enough. I suggest you return to your dorm."

Alastor glowered. "He's my friend," he said angrily.

"Which is the reason I am not punishing you for speaking to a teacher, an adult, in such a highly inappropriate manner," his Professor retorted, drawing himself to full length, "because you spoke out of concern for your friend. Do not try my patience, Mr Moody. Off with you."

The boy opened the door to leave, but turned on the threshold. "If this is what Gryffindors do," he shot at the older man, "then I wish I had gone to Slytherin."

ssssssssss

It had been months since their fight, but when Slughorn responded to the knock on his door and found his estranged friend there, looking pale, he wordlessly stepped aside to let him in.

Pouring him a shot of whiskey, and himself another one, they settled by the fire.

"Tom figured out we fought about him," Albus finally said, staring into the flames. "He hardly speaks to me, and according to young Moody, thinks he's never going to be good enough for me."

Horace managed to bite back an 'I told you so' by sheer force of the will and stayed quiet.

"Now how will I get Tom to trust me?" Dumbledore groaned, taking a far too big a swallow from his glass and coughing.

The Potions Master refilled the glass without a word.

"I think," he finally said, "that before you speak to Tom, you need to figure out your own prejudices. There is an immense amount of insecurity in that boy, and for some reason he only feels safe enough to occasionally show that side to Alastor. Perhaps because he does not feel threatened by Alastor. He trusts you now to provide him with what he needs – that is already an achievement. Now you need to work on showing him that you want him just as he is. That you will not give up on him. That he will still be your son, that you will still acknowledge him as such even if he does murder half the Wizarding World."

A small smile trespassed on Dumbledore's face. "I don't think he's likely to do that," he slowly relaxed some, "you were right. I should respect the person he is, not who I think he should be."

"And you aren't wrong in keeping an eye on him, the boy does have Dark tendencies," Slughorn admitted, "but he is making progress. He had made a massive amount of progress over the past couple of years. Despite his problems, he's a son worth having, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded, and they resumed staring at the fire. There would be no apologies, no talking things over. Both knowing what the other wanted to say, and both knowing where they'd been wrong, they rarely needed words to pick up the shards of their friendship. In a day or two, when the weekend allowed them some freedom, they would walk down to the Hogs Head together for a pint. After that, things would be back to normal.

Between them, at least. Albus was keenly aware that he had another relationship to mend, one that could not be fixed with a few drinks.


End file.
